Something Out Of Nothing
by Secre
Summary: Minerva realised when Harry James Potter first walked into Hogwarts that something wasn't right. Through a combined effort of the Snake and the Lion, they set to change things. Harry is now about to walk into his second year at the wizarding school, with a whole new curriculum. What happens when adults behave like adults with a basilisk on the loose? Sequel to I Did Nothing.
1. A New Beginning

And after a lot of faffing and failing to get started... here begins the second instalment in the fanfic universe of _I Did Nothing_. I am still not anywhere near finished with editing the original fanfic, but as I got an idea of where to start with this one, I thought I'd better write it down before it ran away and hid in the shadows somewhere, never to be found again. I don't deny, it's a bit of a fluff beginning, but it is a beginning after all, and everything has to start somewhere.

And yes, please review... I may have gotten a fair few years older but some things don't change and my love of reviews is one of them!

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 **Chapter 1: A New Year**

Glancing at my watch, I let out a deep sigh. I stand stiffly, old bones protesting just how long I have been sat in this chair without any semblance of movement. At one point in my long forgotten youth, I truly believed that the holiday season was for the Hogwarts professors as much as the students. That fantasy has long since been wiped clean from my thoughts and this summer has proved to be even more taxing than the usual run of the mill routines. Trying to put the new curriculum into place has proved tiresome; every time I think we are getting somewhere, we somehow hit another stumbling block. There's always something, however small or minute; something always crops up, demanding our attention. And that's just the curriculum. Don't get me started on the people.

We're getting there though, that's the important thing. But for now it is time to put the reading lists away and actually relax for the first time this summer, even if only for a handful of hours. It'll be good to get out of here for a while and I have to admit to myself, it will be good to see the Potter boy again. I've dropped in a handful of times over the break to reassure myself of Bathilda's competence with the child, but not for any extended period of time. The little I have seen of him was encouraging mind you; Bathilda has managed to put some weight on his bones which even Hogwarts good food didn't quite manage. We did our best mind, and he certainly wasn't looking quite as pasty by the end of the school year.

Stretching deeply, I step towards the floo and take a deep breath. The darkly furnished room that I step into is as immaculately kept as ever, but balloons, banners and lights are festooned across the place. I duck automatically as something fizzes harmlessly over my head, followed by a catapulting head of red hair that doesn't even stop to look in my direction. That had to be a Weasley. One of the younger ones by the general height and build, I would guess. That reminds me, I'll be completing my Weasley collection this year if all goes as expected. Well, whatever young Ginevra brings to Gryffindor house, she can hardly cause any more trouble that her brothers have in years past. After all, these things are sent to try us.

"Would you like a drink, Professor?" The small voice greets me as I look around with a genuine smile. I look down to see young Potter glancing up at me, his emerald eyes shining beneath the edges of his fringe. "We've got coffee and pumpkin juice and exploding lemonade and milk and tea and well, loads more as well!"

"Now, that does sound like an impressive selection of beverages, young man," I remark lightly, floating the wrapped box I'm holding onto the top of what is becoming quite a tower of presents. "And with a range like that, I really ought to go and investigate for myself, don't you think? After all, you're the birthday boy! You oughtn't to be serving drinks on your own birthday!"

"I don't mind, Professor," the boy remarks shyly, glancing around at the brightly decorated room and the mountain of presents awaiting his attention. "I get to thank everyone for coming this way. I didn't expect so many people to come. I'll show you to the drinks, shall I?"

"So, just who is here?" I inquire, allowing myself to be led out of the darkly polished room and into a surprisingly spacious kitchen area, activity spilling out into the garden beyond as people bustle food and various interesting looking items between the spaces. It doesn't escape my notice that somewhere along the way, what looks to be the entire range of Zonko's Joke Shop has been smuggled in by somebody. Naming no names, but I have my suspicions. "I can see a few Weasley faces for a start."

"Nearly all of the Weasleys came along, and Mrs Weasley brought a huge cake with her," Harry explains excitedly as he steers me to the drinks table, which indeed is loaded with just about every form of refreshment one could possibly imagine. It does my heart good to see Harry so naively pleased with the attention. Oh, to be young and excited over a cake. "Neville and Hermione are here as well, so is Mr Lupin and some other people Bathilda has introduced me to like the Bones, the Diggory and the Tonks families."

Well, Bathilda had mentioned that she was slowly introducing Harry to several other prominent families. Most wizarding children have been in and out of each other's houses since they could walk, unlike Harry who has been isolated near enough his entire life from the world that is his heritage and his birth right. It's interesting that two of the families Harry has mentioned have children significantly older than him though. I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense; it introduces the boy to those he wouldn't ordinarily come across in Hogwarts. After all, only the first years with older siblings routinely pester the upper years. I do note that Bathilda has chosen respectable, light families with which to introduce the child. I shouldn't be biased, but I can't help being relieved regardless.

"Most important of all though," I remark as I help myself to a gillywater. Despite how long the day has seemed, it is perhaps unfortunately early for anything stronger. "How are you enjoying your party?"

"It's amazing!" The boy gushes, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "It's even better than Dudley's old parties! Nobody's ever…"

His voice tails off, but a friendly bellow from the living room catches his attention and he grins back up at me, whatever he was about to say all but forgotten.

"Thank you for coming, Professor!"

Then without another word, he darts off to find the owner of the voice that just heralded him so urgently. I watch with a smile and settle myself down into a comfortable chair I've just summoned rather lazily. The noise and bustle goes on around me as I sip my gillywater and simply soak in the atmosphere around me. Children seem to be everywhere, running and darting, screeching and laughing. It's a sight for sore eyes and it's wonderful to see Harry caught up in the middle of it, doing those things you would expect a normal child to do. Whatever my initial doubts about Bathilda, I can't deny that she is doing a wonderful job with our boy.

"He's come on leaps and bounds, hasn't he?" Remus' gentle voice brings me out of my contemplations, and I find him watching the scene around us with the same slight satisfaction that is likely on my face. "From that frightened mouse of a boy I met last year to well, this… You'd hardly believe it's the same child."

"I was just thinking the same," I admit wryly, watching Harry and Ron tear about the garden on broomsticks, clearly playing some kind of game but one in which the rules will continue to baffle me. Neville on the ground seems to be awarding points for various feats of skill or daring, whilst Hermione sits to one side with her head rather predictably buried in a book. "It's like a miracle."

"No miracle, Minerva," Remus says gruffly, as he shakes his head. "There is no heavenly intervention about this at all. This is all on you and Severus. And Bathilda of course. I dread to think what would have happened if you hadn't stepped in when you did. It beggar's belief that it had to come to that in the first place."

"We did what any responsible adult would have done, Remus." I reply gently, my eyes still following the two boys in the air, whooping like mad beings. Several others have started to collect brooms now and I suspect it's going to be a free for all in the air within minutes. Even the Diggory boy, despite the age difference between them, has been collected and chivvied into the air. "You'd have done no different."

"I wasn't there to make that difference," Remus says softly. "I believed Albus and kept my distance. You were there for the cub."

"From what Bathilda's told me, you've likely spent more time here with the boy than at home these last few weeks," I chide him gently. "To each be their own place; mine was at Hogwarts and even then, it took Severus to point it out to me before I really cottoned on. We all have our blind spots. Albus was perhaps mine as well. But those days have passed."

"I think we all had a blind spot where Albus was concerned," Remus agrees bleakly. "I somehow thought him infallible. I of all people should have known better. After all, Albus's discretion nearly got a boy killed all those years back."

"No, Sirius's stupidity almost got Severus killed," I remark sharply, cutting the man off before he has a chance to get maudlin on me. "And it's hardly as if he hasn't done penance for every Merlin damned stupid thing he ever set his mind to do and then more besides that. What's done is done. We can only change the future, Remus. But just look at what a future we are creating."

The weary puff of laughter from beside me is enough to let me know that Remus has taken my point. For it isn't just the sight of these children here and now, but the knowledge that we have over-turned the education of our young witches and wizards in such a way that hasn't been seen in centuries. Through our changes, we will have helped to shape a change that will reverberate through the years, offering both knowledge and practical experience that will set young hearts ablaze. And in that future stands these children. Through them we will make Hogwarts great once again. Through them we will shape the future.

"Happy birthday to you…" I turn at the sound of the singing, only to watch the most unbelievable cake float before a small swarm of people. Molly has done herself proud and I can't help but simply stare at it in amazement. It is a full-sized replica of the Nimbus 2000 that Harry himself swoops down to the ground on; each twig and branch included individually, the handle gleaming as though it had been newly polished. And resting gently on the stick, its wings fluttering softly as the broom glides across the garden, is a perfectly detailed Golden Snitch, not quite hovering but somehow looking as though it could soar off at any moment. "Happy birthday to you…"

I recover enough of my wits to join in with the growing chorus of voices.

"Happy birthday, dear Harry! Happy birthday to you…"

The boy has clearly seen the cake before, but even still, his eyes are caught by the intricate detail displayed within it. His breath catches as he reaches out a hand toward it, only to find the Golden Snitch buzzes as he does so and the small, golden ball hovers up to rest lightly in the palm of his hand. With what could almost be considered a contented purr, the wings furl up into the ball and it becomes still and silent. I hear Molly's chuckle from behind me.

"I'm glad that worked," she mutters, more to herself than anyone else I feel. "I didn't know if I'd instilled enough magic into the thing to make that party trick fly…"

"It seems a shame to cut it up," I respond in an equally low-key tone, not wanting to interrupt the excited squeals and astonishment surrounding the cake. "It's a work of art, Molly, it really is."

"Oh, it's not that special, Minerva!" Molly's tone is flustered, but the pink flush rising up her cheeks is mark enough that she is pleased with the compliment. "Ron told me that Harry had never had his own birthday cake, would you believe it? Now, I couldn't be having that! No. It was the least I could do."

"It's wonderful, Molly, it truly is," I repeat, true admiration colouring my tone. "I think that's possibly the best present you could have got him."

Our conversation is cut short as the cake is ceremoniously cut, showing the caramel infused layers throughout. Small hands dart in to grab a slice before it's gone, as though a cake that size is going to be finished off today even by this ravenous hoard of youngsters. The general clamour and bustle is reduced to appreciative murmurs and the occasional grubby fingers reaching out for seconds… or perhaps thirds. I have to admit; Molly's efforts taste as divine as they look and I tell her so. Looking around, I can't see anyone who might disagree with me.

"So, has Percy decided what electives he's going to take for his IMP's?" I ask Molly, as I finish off the cake and look wistfully at the remaining slices. Maybe I'll get a second piece later to take home… "I imagine the curriculum change must have come as quite a shock to him."

I don't imagine at all, as it happens. Percy had his O.W.L's planned out long before we even handed out the options to students. It goes without saying that he's had his N.E.W.T's planned for the better part of a year already. I can't imagine him dropping any of his core classes, but with his rigidly defined mind-set, I'm not entirely sure which of the new electives he will be going for.

"Oh, you should have heard him going on about it!" Molly exclaims with a laugh, confirming my suspicions. "Ever since the letters came through, he's been mithering and dithering about it all hours of the day and night. I swear blind the boy has been dreaming about it! Not that it's much of a surprise given how much time he spent researching all the options. He even went to the trouble of finding detailed biographies on all of your planned staff changes. I swear he knows more about his prospective professors than they know about themselves!"

"That sounds like Percy," I agree warmly. "Did he reach a decision in the end?"

"Well, of course he plans on keeping Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Runes and Arithmancy," Molly confirms, ticking them off on her fingers as she goes. "Magical Theory was definitely on his top list last I heard, as is Human Transfiguration and Wandless Magic. Then I believe he was either interested in Ritualistic Magic which means he'd need Defence, Herbology and Astronomy or possibly Spellcraft instead which would only need Defence and World Magics… I think he's likely going to edge towards Spellcraft as that will allow him to add in either Bulgarian or French which he is determined will be useful in the Ministry.

Molly's voice peters off as she realises I am staring at her gapingly. I blink a couple of times before finally speaking.

"You do realise we had intended on the most capable students taking nine IMPs, Molly?" I say shortly, astonishment clear in my tone. "We would anticipate the majority of students taking between four and seven. Percy is thinking of taking twelve?"

"Oh, and Percy is also interested in enrolling in the Healing TOAD as a parallel course, you realise," Molly Weasley assures me blithely, a strange smile on her face as she looks across at her son. "Of course, he already has his Herbology O.W.L, so there should be no issues there. Of all my boys, he is determined to be Perfect Percy." She looks up at me again, before continuing softly, in a wistful tone of voice. "We are both so very proud of him, of course. I sometimes wish he would realise it, though."

With that, Molly wanders back off into the milling crowd, accepting the praise around her with a pleased smile and a growing blush. I sit back in my chair, a slightly perplexed smile upon my face. Twelve. Percy Weasley intends to take twelve IMP's along with a TOAD. He may well set a record in the very first year of these new qualifications. But Molly's comments make me resolve to watch my current oldest Weasley carefully. That wistful tone and forsaken smile. Percy Weasley may be a formidable student, and he can certainly come across as imperious, pompous and, in all honesty, fairly callous. Maybe there is more there than meets the eye, a layer beneath the surface; a fragility hidden there that I haven't quite seen. If this last year proved anything to me, it's that it certainly won't be the first time.

But as I sit and watch young Harry begin to open his mountain of presents, I can't help but smile and it is not just due to the sight in front of me. Such an ordinary sight. A twelve-year-old boy surrounded by presents and torn wrapping paper, friends and family and jokes and laughter. Such a sight nonetheless. That isn't the main reason for my smile however. No. The true reason is ever more fundamental. It is because however difficult the last year has been for us all, and I doubt there is anyone who would deny that, I can see the beginnings of a new future. The start of a new year always fills me with a mixture of excitement, anticipation and trepidation, but even if everything that could go wrong does, this year can only head upwards in my estimation.

A new yet of first years. A new curriculum to balance along with the existing examinations that need to be taken. All the stresses and chaotic nightmares that young wizarding children somehow manage to create when enclosed in an admittedly large castle for a year. A new year. A new beginning. And sitting here, watching the excitement and the enthusiasm around me, I catch Remus' eye and laugh quietly to myself. There will be challenges ahead, that goes without saying. But they are challenges we will be ready to meet head on.

A new year. Let us make sure it is a good one. After all, it cannot be worse than the year just behind us.


	2. A Whomping Entrance

As always, thank you so very much for all your reviews; I am glad the beginning of this has met with overall approval! Do please continue to review - I will try to respond individually, but things are a little bit manic at the moment and I don't always succeed. Please do note that I look forward to each and every one. I will do my best to update this frequently, but sometimes - like, often, real life gets in the way and I get distracted... I apologise in advance for that. Anyhow, do enjoy and please, please review.

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 **Chapter 2: A Whomping Entrance**

"Minerva, the boys didn't get on the Express!"

The first day of term is always somewhat stressful. After all, there is a whole new host of first years to think of. It always worries me that Hagrid is the one to bring them over the lake to the castle. I understand the symbolism and the majesty of approaching the wonder that is Hogwarts from across the lake for the first time, but does it really have to be Hagrid? I would happily trust the man with my coat, but I'm not quite sure that I trust him with my first years. Frankly, it's a miracle that more of them don't look like drowned nifflers as they walk through the castle doors. With that in mind, I could certainly have done without the head in my fireplace, at seventeen minutes past eleven in the morning. The Hogwarts Express would only just have left for Merlin's sake.

"Are you sure, Molly?" I ask reasonably, after all with it being Ginevra's first year this year, it wouldn't surprise me if Molly had been a mite distracted. "They could have just slipped past you when you weren't watching…"

Or indeed, even if it wasn't her youngest daughters first year at Hogwarts, come to think of it. That is one of the issues with having quite such a large brood of youngsters as Molly and Arthur have raised; with every incremental increase, it becomes ever easier to misplace one. I should know. Taking a group of first-years out for the first time teaches you lessons you will never forget. One of them, indeed the most important one being the art of delegation. Or in other words, not being the poor soul in charge of thirty excited eleven-year olds. How Molly hasn't managed to lose one or two of her clutch before is beyond me.

"They definitely didn't!" Molly protests indignantly. "Augusta and Bathilda were both standing with me and none of us saw the boys get on the Express. In fact, we didn't even see them on the platform. But they've gone! We've checked all over the station and they have simply vanished!"

"Hold on, Molly," I say quietly, a slow and uncomfortable suspicion beginning to rise within my chest at her words. The sight of a marvellous tawny owl soaring towards my window does nothing to ease my growing concerns. "Who exactly are we talking about here…?"

I almost don't need to hear her panicked response, for I can recognise Augusta's distinctive script instantly. My heart sinks as the owl sweeps through the open window and lands heavily on my desk. First Molly. Now Augusta. And trouble always comes in threes.

 _Dear Minerva,_

 _I would be grateful if you would be able to inform me when Neville arrives at Hogwarts, or if he and his friends do not appear before the end of the Sorting Feast. I am with Bathilda now and we are currently assuming there was some form of mishap at the station that resulted in them missing the Hogwarts Express._

 _Neville has a level enough head when it suits him at least, and I am sure an alternative method of transport has been located. If this turns out to be a boyhood prank however, you can assure Neville that he will have to answer to me to personally._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Augusta Longbottom_

There are a few things I can think of that would be considered worse than losing three second years on the first day of term, but not many if I am brutally honest with myself. And why didn't they get on the train? What was the problem? Did one of them fall ill or get injured perhaps? But if that was the case then surely, they would have stayed put until the adults came back from the platform… or even better, sent one of them through to get immediate help. Molly would have heard something if a child had been rushed to a muggle hospital without a guardian, I am sure, and there was nothing of that ilk. All she heard were some discontented mutterings about keeping a wild animal locked up in a cage and knocking it around like that. But that makes no sense either. Potter owns an owl, but he dotes on the thing and both Weasley and Longbottom rely on the school owls to relay messages for them if the family owl isn't to hand.

A prank then? Except, I can see James and Sirius planning something ridiculous like flying a muggle car onto the grounds as a statement, but the same isn't true for these three. Potter is still too timid and conscious of authority, Weasley far too afraid of his mother to pull a stunt like that and Longbottom too well brought up; it just doesn't fit with the boys I know. The only thing I can think of that might make sense is if for some reason, they couldn't get through the barrier. But that's impossible. In all the years I have been teaching at Hogwarts, I have never heard of such a thing. No child has ever been refused access to Platform 9¾. Nobody else was affected, or I'd have had a swarm of owls raining on my desk from irate parents by now and Molly, Bathilda and Augusta obviously successfully exited the barrier without a problem. It doesn't add up.

I'm both puzzled and more than a little concerned as I make my way down to the front entrance to await the arrival of my latest batch of first years. This is a special time of the year, a magical time and one that is the greatest of pleasures to take part in. For many of these students, this is the first time they have ever seen Hogwarts, for others this is their whole introduction to the world of magic and wonder that they have discovered themselves to be a part of. For the next seven years, Hogwarts will be their home and their House their family, so for this one day at least, they need to be wowed by what they see before them.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," I say, looking around at the small faces and shuffling feet in front of me. I can immediately pick out Ginevra Weasley, like all of her siblings she has the characteristic flaming red hair and bespeckled face. There's one boy with a noticeable resemblance to Marcus Flint and another one that may just be a Haywood, and the girl with an aura of distinct dottiness with a necklace resembling a collection of used Butterbeer caps has to be Xenophilius's daughter. "The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses."

After giving them a brief run through the houses and what will be expected of them next, I leave the small group to try to tidy themselves up slightly before they stand before the entire student body. Glancing into the Great Hall, it looks as though the majority of the students have settled themselves down in their usual haphazard manner, although there will always be a few latecomers and stragglers, despite them all arriving on the same transport. It never fails to amaze me. Apparently however, this will include three of my own this year as I cannot see Weasley, Longbottom or Potter. That concern twinges at me again, but there is little I can do until the Sorting ceremony is over.

The staff table has had to be enlarged this year as well, to allow for numerous additional members of staff. I can see many of the older students are already trying to put faces to names or guess who will be teaching each topic, whilst the younger children look at the front of the hall with some bemusement. There was little need to give the first to fourth years the full range of IMP and TOAD's after all. Collecting the gaggle of children, they follow me obediently as I walk into the Great Hall, looking somewhere between excited and petrified. This also doesn't surprise me; there is a long running tradition of Hogwarts for the first years to be unaware of the sorting ceremony and somehow this tradition generally holds true through the years. I have discovered that childish minds can imagine all kinds of inventive alternatives, but rarely see themselves sorted by a hat. They look at the patched and threadbare hat that I place on a stool in front of them sceptically.

The looks of astonished shock when the Sorting Hat opens its brim and sings is a sight that will never get old to me. Each year, the same process and each year this is the moment that truly catches them off guard.

 _Oh, I may look dishevelled,_

 _But just sit beneath my brim_

 _For I hold secrets great and small,_

 _Some vulgar, some more prim._

 _..._

 _All young minds within these halls_

 _Come meet me from those doors_

 _No secrets can you keep from me_

 _Though some have tried, of course._

 _..._

 _My purpose though is not to judge_

 _Nor spill tales to waiting ears_

 _Trust in me to keep my peace_

 _You have no need to fear._

 _..._

 _My greatest role within these w_ _alls_

 _Is to look into your minds_

 _And find the place for you right here_

 _That fits with your design._

 _..._

 _For your House will be your family_

 _As Hogwarts is your home_

 _The friendships forged in blood and fire_

 _Are purpose enough alone._

 _..._

 _Those minutes sat beneath my brim_

 _May seem to be too brief_

 _I see the changes you can sustain_

 _Through triumph and through grief._

 _..._

 _So is Gryffindor the home for you,_

 _The house of brave and bold_

 _Where courage and unstinting nerve_

 _Are cherished and foretold._

 _..._

 _Or Slytherin perhaps, young friends_

 _Where sit the cunning minds_

 _Ambition is held utmost here_

 _You reach your ends, I find._

 _..._

 _Yet Ravenclaw of course stands proud_

 _For knowledge is their drive_

 _These curious minds find great reward_

 _And many here will thrive._

 _..._

 _Last but not least, dear Hufflepuffs_

 _Working with unfailing toil_

 _The backbone that supports us all_

 _Foundations in the soil._

 _..._

 _The time is here, step forward now_

 _And discover your true place_

 _Trust in me, be not afraid my child_

 _I wield my skill with grace._

 _..._

And when the applause dies down, I step forward holding a long roll of parchment before me.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," I gesture to the battered looking thing with a small smile; you would never have guessed from looking at it that it is a valuable and irreplaceable magical artefact. "Acero, Sofia!"

A tall, whip thin girl steps forward, puts on the hat and sits fairly gracefully on the stool. A moment's pause before the hat opens its brim and bellows, 'RAVENCLAW!' The Great Hall erupts into applause as the new Ravenclaw finds a seat at her House table, and I continue through the list. It doesn't surprise me overly that Flint, Elias finds himself in Slytherin, although the Lovegood girl is an unexpected one; she looks more like a Hufflepuff than a Ravenclaw to my experienced eye, but the Sorting Hat knows best. And we finish with Weasley, Ginevra who, entirely unsurprisingly, is met with a bellow of 'GRYFFINDOR' almost the moment the hat touches that shock of red hair. The twins are almost bouncing off the table.

Albus stands up with a clap of his hands and the room gradually quietens to a more reasonable level, before he speaks. Unlike previous years he waits an extra couple of beats until there is the best approximation of silence you are going to get with a half full of excitable children and adolescents.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts, one and all, both new and returning students! The banquet will be served soon you will surely be glad to here, and I hardly wish to keep you all from the delights that do await you. However, some introductions do need to be made before we can begin!" Albus sweeps his hand to take in the expanded staff table and numerous new faces. "As you can see, Hogwarts has had a bit of a facelift over the summer and we have found all sorts of new stuff to replace the fluff that your brains are filled with. We are exceptionally lucky to have attracted some of the excellent and specialist minds, most of whom will only teach at the higher levels and I won't keep you from your food for that. However, there are a few new faces that will be relevant to you all."

"First, we welcome back Professor Lupin who will be teaching the newly re-structured Protective and Defensive Spellcraft and Lore as well as the new Duelling classes for third year students and above. He will be working closely with Professor Kettleburn and Madame Quinou who are leading the Magical Species sections of the curriculum. Professor Golding and Professor Tingle will be taking charge of the non-magical lessons for Mathematics, Science, The Written Word and the Introduction to the Muggle World."

"And finally, there are a few small changes to our existing staff line up. Professor Binns has hung up his ghostly teaching cloak," Albus remarks with a twinkle in his eye, clearly not missing the sighs of relief that permeate the hall, " although he will continue to occupy those chambers, so if you have a burning need to learn about the Goblin Wars, you will know where to find him." The heartfelt groans that fill the hall suggest that, if my guess is correct, that particular wing of the castle will now become utterly deserted. "So, it behoves me to introduce Professor Hopkirk, who has been in charge of the examination scripts for many a year and will now get a chance to see the other side of the galleon of education. And of course, I must not forget to mention Professor Snape…"

The entire hall goes so quiet it is as though everyone stopped breathing at the same time. Even those with wandering attentions through Albus' introductions are suddenly fixated on our Headmaster. Albus lets the tension build for a long moment, and I note one or two of my younger Gryffindors going all but purple with excitement.

"We are exceedingly lucky to have such a capable and experienced Potions Master in our midst," Albus begins, amidst a low grumble of disappointment and sighs. "Few institutions are able to boast such expertise in their teaching staff. However, with so many new opportunities within the Potions IMP, it has been considered carefully where our resident Potions Master's skills are in most demand. For this reason, we welcome Professor Reynolds, who will be teaching Potions through to the TOAD examinations, whilst Professor Snape concentrates solely on the upper year students in the advanced classes, unless cover is required."

There's a moment of indrawn breath as though our student body is just waiting for the universe to creep up behind them and shout 'Just kidding!', but when Albus continues to simply stand and look at them benignly, it seems to sink in. The room explodes in a cacophony of noise as students whoop, scream and holler and hats go flying off in every which way they possibly can. I don't dare look at Severus for fear that he would see the slight smirk creasing the corner of my mouth. His teaching methods have always left a significant amount to be desired, when all is said and done. Mind you, Severus himself was over the moon with the thought that he'd managed to wash his hands of the majority of the dunderheads once and for all. I have every reason to suspect that he's even more pleased than the students with this new arrangement.

"Let the feast begin!"

Food appears on the tables before the students and they fall upon it excitedly, the din rising once more, but my attention is caught by a loud crashing that seems to originate from somewhere on the castle grounds. Within moments, Argus is standing at the doorway looking distinctly disgruntled, although that is his standard facial expression I will admit, and I find myself standing to determine what has occurred now. Few others seem to pay attention to the disturbance outside, although some of the first years look nervous. For the rest of them, this is normal fare for Hogwarts. If you got upset every time you heard a crash or a bang, you'd spend most of your student life in a state of nervous distraction. That said, I'm not the only one to begin making my way to the entrance, as both myself and Severus stand at the same time and walk, if not together, then at least with the same purpose in mind.

"You seem to be missing a few students, Minerva," Severus remarks to me in an undertone as we approach the entrance. "Careless of you, this early in the term…"

"I'm not sure it's my carelessness on the table when they don't even make it onto the Hogwarts Express," I reply in an equally low tone. "But yes, if they don't arrive by the end of the feast…"

I let the sentence tail off as in all reality, if they don't arrive by the end of the feast I really don't know what I am going to do. Bathilda and Augusta have been checking the obvious places, it doesn't seem like simple truancy and I'm running out of options. I suspect we'll have to get the Ministry involved, which is something I could really do without. Fudge has the tact and diplomacy of a niffler on firewhisky and it won't even be an hour before the entire wizarding world knows the Boy-Who-Lived has gone missing. We close the door on the students behind us and look expectantly at Argus.

"You'll never guess what those brats have gone and done now," Argus opens with, gesturing wildly outside. "Just you come and see. A pity they let the old punishments die out. You wouldn't get this kind of behaviour back in those days, you believe me…"

"Argus, what exactly is going on?" I question tartly.

"They've gone and landed a bus in the Whomping Willow of all places!" Argus exclaims in utter disgust. "A fine specimen that tree, but the damage they'll have done to it…"

"Who has landed a bus in the Whomping Willow?" Severus drawls slowly, his tone one of cold contempt.

"I don't know, do I?" Filch snorts. "It's got to be some of those good for nothing kids though, hasn't it? Who else is going to be landing a flying bus in the middle of a prized tree?"

I barely refrain from raising my eyebrows at the man. He's usually got nothing but complaints about the Whomping Willow; how it scares Mrs Norris and shouldn't be permitted on Hogwarts grounds. It's only because he believes he has a chance to see some poor soul get ripped apart by Severus on their first day that he's so defensive of it all of a sudden, I know.

"Let us go and find out, shall we?" Severus's snide drawl continues. "After all, once we have the answer to the question of whom, it is only a matter of time until we can get to the crux of the issue of why…"

"Why? Why?" The older Squib splutters, looking as though Severus had suggested something particularly unusual. "Who cares about the why!? Hang them up by their thumbs is what we should do. They won't do it again after that in a hurry, no they certainly will not. You know it's working when you hear the screaming…"

I shake my head in disgust at Argus's medieval attitude towards school discipline and set off at a fast trot to the site of the Whomping Willow. Argus does have a minor point; the Whomping Willow is one of the only specimens of its kind in the United Kingdom to the best of my knowledge, but it's not exactly an heirloom of the school. If anything, it's a disaster waiting to happen, but for some reason Albus has a soft spot for the violent thing and won't hear anything said about having it removed for the sake of student safety. Last time I mentioned it, I got some nonsense about how every magical school needs a sense of adventure… as though the centaurs, the mermaids, the ghosts and the poltergeist didn't already provide enough of that.

The sight of a bright purple bus being batted between the gigantic swooping arms of the giant tree in front of us is enough to stop me in my tracks however. Every so often it stops as though trying to vanish, but not even inanimate objects can apparate within the grounds of Hogwarts. Instead, it finds itself well within the long reach of the flailing wooden limbs, being batted and hammered from one direction to another. It strikes me that the tree is almost playing with the vehicle, as though it were a cat torturing a mouse for sport or entertainment. I don't think the Whomping Willow has that much awareness, but it's quite an amazing sight to see.

For a moment my brain goes blank, unsure what to do when confronted with the sight of the rapidly denting triple decker bus in front of me. Hogwarts has flung many mysteries and surprises at me over the years, but this is a new one even for me and I find myself simply staring in disbelief. Severus' reactions are faster than mine and he darts forwards, ducking under the thrashing boughs with astonishing reflexes. Without any fanfare, he sends a compressed ball of air spinning toward the base of the tree and, to my absolute amazement, the tree branches stop their frenzied violence as though they had never been moving.

The bus drops sharply to the ground, but the awkward downward motion is arrested by a sharp wave of Severus's wand and floats as gracefully as a bright purple bus can to the ground. I look at Severus in newfound astonishment. He did that instinctively, on reflexes alone and I have no idea how he even knew what to do. I'd have perhaps tried to immobilise the thing manually, indeed I suspect any member of staff would and it would probably take a cohort of us together. How in the name of Merlin did Severus know exactly what to do in order to bring the entire tree to a grinding halt?

My thoughts are soon interrupted however, as soon the tires reach the safety of the ground, and the door bangs open leaving a rather dishevelled looking group to tumble out of it, looking around dazedly. With some great relief, I quickly spot the three smaller forms of my missing second years amongst the group and start towards them quickly.

"Who now placed a thumping giant tree there!?" A bespectacled older wizard snaps grumpily, gesturing wildly to the stilled branches of the Whomping Willow. "That weren't there when I was here last… and look at what it's done to my wheels! Someone's gonna have to pay for this, you know!"

"I understand it was Albus Dumbledore who presided as Headmaster over the planting of the Whomping Willow," Severus drawls snidely, his tone only just short of sarcastic. "I believe he was of the opinion that it was big enough for thestrals, buses and flying cars to notice before they decided to see it up close and personal… and it has been there over a decade now by my count…"

"How were I to know!?" The man blusters. "It weren't there in my day! That there thing could take someone's eye out! And look what it's done to my bus!"

"Look what your bus has done to this fine historical specimen," Severus replies tartly. "A unique and valuable specimen of great interest to herbalists and potioneers from all over the country. Thousands of Galleons of damage, I would have thought… We will of course have to discuss compensation for the results of your thoughtless and reckless actions…"

I tune out the worried protests of what is evidently the driver of the purple monstrosity sitting on the Hogwarts grounds, even as I bite back a smirk at the temerity of my younger colleague. It is possible that the only word of truth he has just spoken is that the tree is unique; there's certainly no other in the United Kingdom to my knowledge. But as far as valuable or interesting goes, you can't harvest any useful materials from it for potions or enchanting, its wood has been found to be drastically unpredictable when used for wands and the only thing it does remotely well is hit anything that comes close to it with a violent intensity. I'd for one would be willing to get rid of it for a bent Sickle and I know for a fact that Severus is of a similar mindset.

Thankfully, it looks as though my boys are uninjured, if distinctly pale and shaken. The main casualty appears to be the young Weasley boy's wand which appears to be emitting dangerously red sparks from the broken ends as he looks down at it mournfully. The look of abject dismay on his face doesn't overly surprise me; I suspect he is wondering how in Merlin's name he is going to explain this particular conundrum to his mother.

"I did tell you not to stick it in your back pocket!" Longbottom remarks shakily, his gaze also caught be the fatally damaged wand wood. "I don't think even Ollivander will be able to put that back together for you…"

"My mum's gonna murder me…" The Weasley boy groans miserably. "This one belonged to Charlie and with all the new books and things this year for us all, there's no way they'll be able to buy me a new wand!"

"Well, you can't spend all year with that, Mister Weasley. We will have to sort something out on your behalf," I remark, watching as three heads shoot up and watch me nervously as I continue dryly. "But first, would you kindly explain why you took an alternate mode of transport to the Hogwarts Express this year, boys? I do hope you have a reasonable explanation…"

"Well, uh… the barrier…" "It's like this Professor McGonagall…" I close my eyes as the three boys all start speaking at the same time. "We really didn't have a choice, Professor!" "We couldn't get onto the train!"

"And why didn't you send us a letter by owl?" I respond dryly, once the explanations have petered off. Four faces stare at me with varying degrees of mortification and realisation. I settle my eyes on the magnificent white creature at Harry's feet. "I believe you have at least one between the three of you?"

The boys just gape at me for a few long seconds and I allow the moment to stretch out cruelly. Boys will, after all, be boys and it could have been far worse. They could have ended up anywhere… The Knight bus would not be my preferred choice of transportation, but it does show a remarkable amount of common sense, after all.

"I… We… didn't think –" The Longbottom boy eventually chokes out, his face even paler than when they had stumbled out of the bus.

"That," I remark, watching the boys flinch at my dry tone, "is obvious."

Another long moment of building silence.

"That said, boys," I smile down at them and watch as their faces as they slowly realise they do not seem to be in any trouble. "There was some remarkably quick thinking there. You kept a cool head in what appeared to be an emergency. Ten points to Gryffindor for a level-headed assessment of the situation without panicking. Come on, let's get you checked over by Madame Pomfrey. You know, she'd have my hide if I let you go to your dormitory's after being thrown around like that even if you look ok. You'll be glad to know your sister was sorted into Gryffindor, Mister Weasley. I have somehow managed to collect the entire clan of you. Thankfully, not all at the same time."

Slowly we set off toward the castle, leaving Severus to continue his discussion with the bus driver. I'm sure he'll have words to say later about the giving of points for actions not on Hogwarts grounds or even in term time. Let him. They've had a scare today and it's the least I can do. Particularly as it really was quite decent problem solving from a group of twelve-year olds. Anyhow, Severus should be mollified by his exchange with the bus driver. I am not going near that with a broomstick. Let the old man talk his way past Severus's sharp tongue.


	3. A House Elf of Indeterminate Origin

So. I got somewhere eventually. For those who read the original Chapter 2 by the way, you might be interested in having another look. I realised that I was just cheating and wrote a Sorting Song for it which was added in after the original publication. I can't swear that it's high poetic literature but I don't think it's an embarrassment as far as Sorting Songs go! I'd be interested to see what you think.

Anyhow, you will be glad to know that the school term is starting and the mayhem is soon to begin! Please do read, enjoy and particularly review whether or not you have enjoyed. Reviews make me very happy. I will try to keep a more regular update schedule, but finding the time to write is blue murder sometimes!

To those commenting about the flying bus; the Knight Bus is an odd one. Nobody really seems to know how it works and even Pottermore is decidedly vague but it seems to be to be some combined method of flying, illusion, speed, potential invisibility and apparation along with the muggle tendency to simply not see things that don't look right. So as there is no 'strict' canon, I kind of went where I wanted with it.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: A House Elf of Indeterminate Origin**

"Second year in a row, Mister Potter," Poppy remarks, her smile belying the raised eyebrows. "There are few students who can boast that they have been to the Hospital Wing before term even starts, you realise. This is becoming a habit."

"I'd prefer it not to, Madam Pomfrey," the youngster replies with a shy grin. "Not that I'm not grateful at all, but I think I spent more than enough time here last year to last me a lifetime."

I smile down at the boy fondly. What a difference a year has made to him. Quite aside from the extra flesh on his bones and the healthy flush to his cheeks, he has clearly gained a soft confidence in himself. To think on it, this time last year he wouldn't even meet our eyes consistently, let alone responding with such a gentle humour. Never say that I can't admit when I am wrong; I may have been sceptical about Bathida taking on the guardianship of my young ward, but I can't deny the magic she has worked.

"Well, it could have been significantly worse, I suppose," Poppy concedes, looking around at the small gaggle of boys with wry amusement in her face. "You've all got off remarkably luckily. Nothing is broken, although you will likely have a few fine bruises come tomorrow morning. I'll send you all of with a vial of painkilling solution that you can take as and when you need it. If you need an extra dose, just pop back to the Hospital Wing tomorrow morning. I can also give you a pot of cream. You shouldn't need a lot and it will clear up most of the swelling and discolouration. You can bring the pot down once you are finished with it. Any questions, boys?"

"No, thanks, but I know what I'll never do again!" The young Weasley boy grumbles as he takes the vial from Poppy. "I'm never getting on that Knight Bus ever again in my life! The driver is a lunatic, I swear!"

"I must admit, I am somewhat baffled by how it is even possible to simply not see a fifty foot tree well before you manage to fly into it," I murmur with a slight smile. "I mean, even before it starts hitting back, it is a distinctly striking part of the Hogwarts landscape. Not one that is easily missed, shall we say…"

"It's 'cause he was talking to that ruddy head of his," the red-haired youngster grouches unhappily as he slouches towards the door. "I'd swear blind that I got most of my bruises before the giant tree tried to kill us! I swear, he's off his rocker!"

"Thankfully there was no major harm done though, Mister Weasley," I remark as I gently steer them out of the Hospital Wing. I's amazing how you can manage that without even touching a child. Sheer force of will, shall we say. "I am however certain that Miss Granger and the remainder of your house mates will all be exceptionally keen to hear of your adventurous entrance onto the school grounds…"

"It was all the bleeding barriers fault…" The mutter from the young Weasley does not escape my hearing.

"And that, I do promise I will be investigating in full, Mister Weasley," I remark with a grim smile. "There is much that puzzles me about this entire matter, and I do not appreciate being puzzled. Particularly by supposedly inanimate objects." The Longbottom boy cracks a grin at that, but if I am not mistaken he still looks distinctly concerned. "The password for the Gryffindor Common Room is Wattlebird, I am certain you can make your own way there."

The group of boys all shuffle off, the majority of them in high enough spirits now that their initial shock has worn off. The Longbottom boy's feet falter slightly though, before he turns slightly, letting the two others go on ahead. He bites his lip nervously, as though unsure of something and whilst I wait for a beat, it becomes obvious he isn't sure what to do.

"Is there something you are concerned about, Mister Longbottom?" I ask gently, watching as his gaze skitters nervously up to mine before, focussing on his feet once more. "You seem upset."

"I was wondering, Professor, if… well… if…" He glances wearily back at the other two boys, but they are happily engrossed in the tales of their misadventures and don't look back. The youngster takes a deep breath before continuing. "I was wondering if it would be possible to speak with you… privately for a minute, I mean… if that would be ok, Professor?"

"Of course," I reply, my concern warring with some surprise both at the requests and his mannerisms. I don't recall the boy being this nervous last year, at least not once we had fixed that irritating wand issue that he was struggling with. "You can accompany me down to my office. Nobody will bother us there."

We walk down to my office in silence, but I can't help but glance at the boy and something in his demeanour tells me that he is uncomfortable. Perhaps it is just a spider sense honed through my many years of teaching. It's that more than anything that stops me from merely requisitioning a spare classroom. Somehow, I just have the sense that my office is the most appropriate place for this conversation. After all, the Longbottom boy is not prone to demanding attention, and whilst his confidence has certainly grown in leaps and bounds over the last year, he has kept an unassuming air about him. If it were the Weasley boy, I would be suspicious of some form of practical joke, but I can't see that here.

The portrait on my office door recognises me even as I draw close to it, and the door swings open. Nodding approvingly, I gently usher the boy into the room as I levitate one of the chairs for him.

"So, whatever is troubling you, Mister Longbottom?" I ask, watching with growing concern at the way the boy kneads his hands together. It's an anxious habit that he seemed to have grown out of, and my internal alarms have started to chime.

The child swallows nervously and in the ongoing silence, I am tempted to repeat my question. Indeed, I've opened my mouth when those guileless hazel eyes meet mine and I stop.

"It's… well, it's something Harry told us when we were on the Knight Bus…." he begins hesitantly. "It didn't seem right and it worried me. But I might just be making a dragon out of a niffler. I don't know…"

"Are you still concerned?" I ask, as the boy tails off uncertainly. "If you are, don't you think it better to talk to someone? It doesn't have to be me…"

"No…" he takes a deep breath before continuing. "I'd prefer to speak to you, Professor, if that's ok?"

"That's what I'm here for," I remark gently. "For you and Mister Potter both."

"Harry thought it was a dream he'd had," the boy starts again, clearly nervous as speaks, his fingers knotting against each other almost unconsciously. "That's how he described it at least. A dream that he'd had over the summer holiday. But it didn't really seem like a dream to me… some of the things that Harry thinks he imagined are just… too real… and it doesn't make sense…"

"A dream that is not a dream…" I say slowly, as the boy tails off, looking down at his feet. The silence grows, as indeed does my bewilderment. "So, what do you think it might have been?"

"It sounded more like…" he hesitates, glancing up at me nervously before continuing in a rush. "Well, if I'm honest, it sounded more like someone with no magical upbringing or experience trying to explain away an experience with a magical creature that they have no understanding of…"

And if the boy didn't have my attention before, he certainly does now.

"What kind of creature do you mean exactly, Mister Longbottom?" I ask a little too sharply as I bite back my own anxiety.

Bathilda's wards are second to none. I should know; it didn't take all too much persuasion to get the eldest Weasley to come and check them over for us. If his warding is trusted by Gringott's, there shouldn't be much that can get through it. Nothing should have been able to get into that property without prior and explicit permission from Bathilda and only Bathilda. The only exception was one Severus demanded; if Bathilda were for any reason incapacitated, Potter would be able to call for help and allow entrance of any St. Mungo's staff. Anybody who is not on a previously agreed list however, needs another adult to approve them before entrance; an adult who has already got permission to pass the wards nonetheless.

"I can't be certain, Professor, but it sounded a lot to me like a house elf from what Harry said," Longbottom replies with a slight frown, his nervousness once more apparent. "But if it was a House Elf then it was absolutely determined that Harry should not return to Hogwarts this year… and I don't know why that would be, either…"

"A house elf?" I repeat, struggling to keep disbelief out of my tone. "However did you reach that conclusion, Mister Longbottom?"

"Harry described one perfectly, you see," Neville explains earnestly, and I can't help but believe him, however ridiculous his story may sound. "He's never seen one before, but his description was almost perfect. He said that this apparition was about the size of a three year old, but with a far bigger head and eyes that bulged like tennis balls or something and a really awkward squeaky voice that sound like it belonged to a eunuch… whatever that means. I did ask but I didn't really understand the answer… something about men becoming women or something anyway… it sounded really quite gruesome in honesty…"

"Do continue, Mister Longbottom," I say with a slight smile. I feel no need to as yet enlighten the boy as to what a eunuch might be. It seems typical however that the muggle word has continued with such antiquities long after they were considered barbarous by the wizarding populace. "This house elf?"

"Oh, yes, sorry Professor," the boy looks back down at his feet briefly before continuing. "Only it wasn't just the appearance, although that would have been enough. From what Harry said, it was dressed in an ill-fitting pillow case and kept trying to punish itself for speaking ill of its masters. That isn't something Harry would just imagine or dream, Professor. That's a house elf!"

"And you say that it didn't want Mister Potter to return to Hogwarts this year?" I ask slowly, trying to come to terms with this onslaught of information.

"No. Harry said it was absolutely determined," the youngster's hazel eyes meet mine and I can see absolute faith in words. "It didn't just not want him here, it actively warned him away. Harry said that it was really quite upset and was certain that he would be in danger if he came back here. But it wouldn't say what the danger might be or even whether anyone else would be in danger…"

"That is very, very interesting, Mister Longbottom and I will certainly look into this closely," I say, keeping my tone as reasonable as I can. I would love to be able to say that nothing could possibly befall the boy within the walls of Hogwarts, but I only need to remember some of the slightly hairier moments of last year to have that wishful thinking dispelled.

"I don't suppose you have any idea who the house elf might belong to?" I ask, without any high hopes. After all, if he had known that pertinent detail, it would surely have come up somewhat early and without solicitation.

It therefore doesn't surprise me when he shakes his head.

"No, Professor," he admits, almost shamefully. "Harry said that the creature named itself Dotty or Dopsy or something like that I think… but none of my grandmother's friends or acquaintances have an elf by that name to the best of my memory at least… I can always ask her if you think it would be helpful, though?"

"No, that's quite all right, Mister Longbottom," I remark with a smile. "I can always contact Augusta myself, but for the moment you have given me more than enough information to be getting on with. Thank you for coming to me with this. It might be nothing as you have said, but it might also be a real threat. You have done the correct thing. Five points to Gryffindor. Off you go now."

The boy smiles slightly wanly as he heads out of my office, leaving me with much to think about indeed. There are several pressing issues clamouring for my attention here, all of them equally important. First and perhaps foremost, there has clearly been a serious breach of security here. I am more than aware that the vagaries of house elf magic can prove difficult to counteract; the fact that they alone can apparate in Hogwarts is testimony enough to that, but even so, the wards should have been sufficient and clearly are not. Then of course there is the matter of the barrier and the warning. It seems far beyond co-incidence for the Potter boy to have received such a warning, only to then find himself unable to reach Hogwarts through conventional means. Something smells distinctly off about the whole experience.

The warning itself concerns me as well, not least because of the method in which it was received. For a house elf to act in such a manner, particularly when it is apparent that it is acting in outright defiance of the wishes of its family, is almost beyond belief. Something very strange is going on here, and I intend to discover exactly what it is. Whatever this house elf seems to believe is going to happen at Hogwarts this year scared it and scared it badly enough that it sought out Potter in order to warn him away. Either that or someone is playing with us, and I don't much care for being played. But I suspect my initial conclusion is the closer to the truth. But what could come to Hogwarts that would unnerve a house elf like that?

It is perhaps of small surprise that I find myself taking a wander down in the direction of Severus' quarters in fairly short order. I am reasonably sure that my younger colleague will have finished inducting his youngest Snakes into the House, a task he takes some pride in doing personally each year. After all that occurred last year, I know he can be trusted and sees things from a very different perspective to me sometimes. If anyone is going to have a clue what is going on here, it will be Severus and Longbottom's account deeply concerns me. I have no doubt that he is telling the truth; he has no reason to lie and unlike young Potter, he would recognise a house elf without any issues at all. It wouldn't surprise me if the Weasley boy has no more than a passing recognition of the creatures, for all his magical heritage, but Longbottom House would have its fair share, as indeed would many of their closer friends and allies.

But surely, if it were a house elf belonging to a family close to the family, the boy would have recognised the name? Or, in fairness, would he? After all, to near enough all, house elves are merely a piece of the furniture and you don't name the furniture. In this case, you often don't even see the furniture unless specifically called for, so why would you remember its name? I was exactly the same until that unsettling moment with Severus last year. I can hardly judge the child for it.

"Severus," I greet my younger colleague with no small measure of surprise as he steps out of the door before I even reach it, let alone have time to announce my presence. "How did you…"

"Call it a gift," he drawls softly, an undeniable smirk on that sallow face showing his amusement at having discomforted me so easily. "I assume this is to do with the Potter boy, Minerva. Most things seem to be."

"In part," I agree as he silently waves me through into his quarters, cloak billowing gently as he does so. That reminds me… between one thing and another, I never did check to see if that's a custom made charm. "We may however have larger problems at hand. I have just had a rather enlightening discussion with one of my younger students, that leads me to believe that it may have been house elf magic that was responsible for blocking the Kings Cross barrier. However…"

"Is that even possible?" Severus drawls softly, his face a strange mix of disbelief and fascination. "How could any… and on what evidence are you making this assumption, Minerva? This isn't something that you would have come to randomly."

"One boy's testimony of another boy's 'nightmare'," I remark wryly, fully expecting the look of rampant disbelief and sculpted contempt I now find on my younger colleague's face. "I am more than aware of how that sounds, Severus, believe me. But the pieces do add up. More worryingly, it all adds up to a picture that I don't quite understand."

"From the beginning, Minerva," Severus drawls. "I suspect that might help us all…"

"Yes, well…" I mutter as I take a seat opposite Severus. "It's always helpful if you know where the beginning is…"

"Pick a point, any point," Severus remarks, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It can't be that difficult, Minerva. You only spent a few moments with the boy, after all. At the rate we're going, it will be full night fall before you even get started."

"A house elf of indeterminate origin seems to have successfully managed to bypass all of the security precautions that have been laid on Bathilda's house," I finally say, biting back a sigh as I do so. "By the account that I have heard, it appeared late at night and was strangely determined to stop the young Master Potter from coming back to Hogwarts. It seemed positive that there was to be a danger at Hogwarts; a danger so significant that Potter should not return at all for fear of it."

"What kind of danger?" Severus drawls, the only sign that he is paying close attention being the way those dark, hooded eyes never leave my own. He nods to himself at the shake of my head. "Have you spoken to the Potter boy himself yet?"

"No," I reply shortly. "From what I have been told, it would appear that young Harry has dismissed the entire experience as a strange and particularly vivid dream. I don't want to worry him further until we have a better idea of what we are dealing with."

"Hmm… I suppose that is an understandable concern," the younger man concedes, glancing briefly down at his long fingers before meeting my gaze once more. "The boy has more than enough experience of hardship and fear. You don't intend to make him fearful of his safety in his new abode. Bathilda will have to be informed, you do realise?"

"Of course," I respond smartly. "I intend to check Kings Cross first however. Would you be interested in taking an extra-curricular field trip with me?"

"I can see no reason why not," Severus responds slowly and dryly. "It is not as if I have a mountain of preparation to do for the Hospital Wing after all, but I must admit that this business intrigues me. Do you have any insight into what we are looking for?"

"Any suggestion that the barrier was actually magically tampered with, I suppose…" I reply, a slightly hesitant note to my voice that I attempt to muffle instinctively. The gleam in those dark eyes is all I need to see to know I am unsuccessful. "I can't imagine any but some powerful magic managing to disrupt that barrier in such a way. It must have left some form of residue."

"Talk as we walk then," Severus announces, standing sharply at his own words. He looks at me and sighs audibly at whatever expression he sees on my face. "It would perhaps be the most circumspect option, if we were to leave with as little fanfare as possible?" The exasperation is clear in his tone. "The fewer those who see us leave, the fewer who may ask potentially awkward questions. We can apparate unseen once we reach the edge of the grounds." He stands and walks towards the door. "Do you have any idea of this stray house elves name, by any chance?"

That last question is fired over his shoulder and I have little choice but to follow him out of the door in order to respond. Not that it is any hardship, mind. Severus has an excellent point. After all the surprises of last year, it would be foolish to trust anything to chance and luck. His plan shows great merit. I would have had us floo into Hogsmeade and then go from there, however that would undoubtedly have drawn unnecessary attention to our mission. After all, many an old student would find it worth mentioning that they'd seen the Snake and the Lion together alone. Schoolyard gossip is a most tedious thing.

"Longbottom wasn't sure," I say quietly, as we step into the main entrance hall from the dungeons. "Either he couldn't remember or Potter wasn't very clear. He seemed to think that it was something along the lines of Dotty or Dobsy or something…"

Severus stops so abruptly that I find myself careening into the back of him, nearly falling backwards in the process.

"Severus, what in the name of…"

"Hold." Severus all but commands and somehow my voice trails away without my permission. To cover my unease, I brush ineffectually at my emerald green robes. "Could it have been called 'Dobby' by any chance?"

"Why, I suppose so…" I glare at him, but as per usual the man fails to respond to the icy stare that brings most others to their knees. "What does this have to do with you all but knocking me over, Severus?"

"I believe you walked into me, Minerva," Severus has started moving again, his steps clicking purposefully on the stony gravel in direct contrast to the sudden indifferent neutrality in his tone. "Get ready to apparate. I will meet you inside the platform."

With that, infuriatingly, the man is gone, leaving me gaping in a highly unbecoming manner at the space in which he has vanished from. Severus is known for being curt, but that was rather more extreme than I would have expected from him. Gathering my cloak around me, I take a deep breath and suppress sincere irritation as I fix the destination in my mind. I'd never live it down if I splinched myself now. With a whirl of darkness and the sudden pressure of the magic, I land neatly just inside the boundary of Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Severus is already there and waving his wand impatiently at the apparent brick barrier before him.

"You were right." His tone is cold, clinical. He doesn't look up from the motions he is drawing in front of the barrier. "Strong magic was used here and not long ago at that. It's a strange magic, unlike that of any witch or wizard I have encountered."

"But that means…"

"Yes," Severus's response is short. "The Longbottom boy was right to bring this to you. The magical signature I am reading here is not human. It's not even remotely human. It's a good job we came now. If we'd have waited until tomorrow, I would wager that there would have been little enough signature left to trace even that much."

"The house elf. Severus?" I remind him tartly. "You seem to know something. Care to elaborate."

"I don't know what is going on, Minerva," Severus replies dryly. "But I intend to find out. Malfoy Manor has two house elves. One of them is called Dobby."

"So Malfoy sent the house elf?" I ask in utter outrage, my blood beginning to boil as I imagine all the things I would do to that man.

"No," Severus is sharp, blunt and his tone leaves absolutely no room for argument. "There would be no gain in Lucius doing such a thing. Plus that elf is… strange. Lucius wouldn't trust it with any task more delicate than cleaning the dishes, and even then not the items of any value. Merlin knows, Narcissa wouldn't trust it with the baby clothes, let alone Draco himself. No…"

"Young Mister Malfoy then?" I ask, wondering what mischief that young terror could be trying to wreck. Maybe just the aim of keeping the Potter boy from Hogwarts this year, after all it's no great secret that he is angling for the Slytherin Seeker role and Potter would be his only real opponent on the pitch. Or just for the purposes of spreading confusion and chaos…

"The boy disdains that creature even more than his father does…" Severus muses aloud. "No. If I am correct, there is something very strange going on here indeed. I suspect the key question is thus; is the elf working for the good of the Malfoy family or does it know something…"

"What do you mean?" I ask sharply.

"We have been looking at this as a ploy against Potter somehow," Severus meets my gaze unflinchingly, his tone utterly even. "We have not considered that this elf might actually believe it is protecting Potter."

"But what reason would it have?" Disbelief wars with confusion in my tone.

"Now that, I do not know," Severus voice is dangerously quiet. "Yet."

There's a swish and a crack and he's gone. Again.


	4. A Minister Singing Contralto

So. I'm back. This is a shorter chapter than the last few but it's setting things up for a few explosions to come so I hope you will bear with me. I have a plan for the next few chapters you will be glad to hear and so providing real life doesn't get complicated again there should be a few decently timed updates at long last... this one took so long because it was a bit of a limbo chapter and I'm never that good at those. So anyway. Enjoy. And please, please, please review. I know I've been absent a long time but they really do make my day!

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 **Chapter 4: A Minister Singing Contralto**

"Minerva, will you please do something about Mister Weasley's wand?" Filius snaps in exasperation before the all staff meeting has even really started. "The boy is an absolute menace to everyone around him! He all but took my eye out and somehow managed set Mister Finnigan's hair alight yesterday afternoon! I wouldn't mind, but we don't start the advanced fire charms until next term!"

Yes. That was another thing on my long list of things to do, wasn't it? Things just seem to be slip away from me. I'm sure my life was simple at some point. All I had to worry about was the possibility of two red-headed demons blowing up half the castle, either accidentally or less so, and a selection of sub-standard essays. Now there is so much to contend with that I can't keep it all straight in my head. A new curriculum combined with final year students completing their existing courses. A possessed Professor being held somewhere deep in the Ministry. The grindingly slow release of an innocent man from the horrors of the Dementors. A interminably demented house elf and a distinctly dented Whomping Willow. Oh, and a boy's broken wand. Because clearly that is the most important item on my list of things to do.

Filius is right though. The boy is a menace with that hastily taped together monstrosity he calls a wand. He was never all that good at aiming his wand work even before the accident, but he's a danger to all around him now. I'm not looking forward to Molly's response mind you. That family barely have a spare bent knut to rub on their robes and wands don't come cheap. What with the additional expense of five students starting a new curriculum in various degrees, this year must already have cost them a small fortune. Not for the first time I wonder why Hogwarts doesn't have a fund to help struggling families. Not that I don't have enough on my plate without taking that on in addition.

"Moving onto more pertinent business," Albus interjects before I can frame a response, so I merely nod at Filius. "We have a great deal to discuss and a limited amount of time. Has anyone anything to raise before we get started?"

Albus allowed the silence to continue for a couple of seconds before smiling benignly and continuing.

"The first matter of business I originally had in mind was the new curriculum and whether there are any issues, but that perhaps can wait in light of a more immediate manner." He smiles genially around the gathered faculty, far more of us present than there have been in recent years. "Pomona, how is the Whomping Willow fairing?"

"Probably far better than the Knight Bus, in honesty Albus," Pomona responds with a smile. "Of all the places within Hogwarts grounds that Ernie Prang could have tried to park, you'd have thought he'd have more sense than to aim for the only tree in the world that hits back… either way, I am highly grateful for the help of Remus and Bill here. Thanks to them, there were not too many bruises incurred in bandaging the branches that were the most damaged."

"Not a problem," Remus chips in with a smile. "I would say any time, but I have to admit there are definitely less stressful ways to spend one's morning…"

"Well, that's good to hear," Albus remarks heartily. "So, onto the next matter. As you all will no doubt have noticed, we have a huge influx of new Professors, many of which are here in this room. Once more, I would like to extend a huge welcome to Hogwarts to you all and reassure you that if you have any problems settling in, any one of our longer standing members of staff will be willing to help you." His eyes flickered around the crowded room. "Would we like to go around and say a few words about ourselves in order to introduce ourselves?"

"No," Severus' response is sharp and immediate. " _We_ most certainly would not, Albus." It is easy enough to read between the lines. Severus doesn't much care what anyone else thinks, he just has no inclination to join in such tomfoolery. "I am sure there will be ample time to 'get to know each other' throughout the year."

The sneer on those five words is pronounced and I bite back a smirk at the younger man's obvious discomfort. Admittedly, there are several others looking distinctly relieved at the derailing of this particular idea. I don't know where Albus gets some of his hair-brained ideas from. This one was never going to fly with our sharp tongued Potions Master.

"Ah well, it was worth a try my dear boy," the older man replies with that distinct twinkle in his eye. "I am sure you will all have ample time to introduce get to know one another nonetheless. I am aware that the new curriculum will put distinct strain on some members of the faculty over others…"

Here he looks directly at Filius before his bright gaze moves over to me. This doesn't overly surprise me. As an interim measure we have ended up taking a lion's share of the curriculum, although on a shared basis. Filius alone has taken on sections of Magical Theory, Duelling, Offensive Magic, Spellcraft and Enchantment in addition to his role as Charms teacher and responsibilities as Head of House. It's a vast workload for one man, even if many of them are advanced courses and so limited in number. "So I expect full co-operation from all of you to make things run as smoothly as possible."

He glances around the room once more before continuing.

"There is far more cross-over in the curriculum than we have ever previously experienced here at Hogwarts, which means you will find yourselves working closely with colleagues that would have been out of your usual sphere of influence," Albus continues, this time his gaze meets Severus' levelly and I can read the unsaid warning there. Play nice or don't play at all. I don't think he has as much to worry about as he thinks, mind you. Severus can be sharp and caustic but he respects excellence and efficiency. He may not like Remus on a personal level, but he cannot deny that the man has the skills and the personality to teach well. "Personal vendetta's will not be permitted to intrude upon our student's learning. We would all do well to remember that. Are there any questions relating to the curriculum that need addressing?"

"How many of our sixth and seventh years have taken the switch over to the IMP curriculum?" Pomona is the first to open her mouth. "I only ask because trying to run two curriculum's at the same time is going to be all but impossible."

"All of our current sixth years have moved over to the new curriculum," Albus replied with a smile. "There were a handful who took a little bit more persuasion, and for that I can only congratulate all of the Heads of House who have spent a lot of time over the summer calming fears. Unfortunately, our seventh year has more of a 50/50 split to it. I suspect because of the expectation that they would have to complete an extra year before graduating in most cases. They will however be able to sit in on the regular classes for the subjects they are taking and additional tuition can be provided at points to cover any aspects of the old curriculum that have been changed or altered. This will be particularly noticeable in Protective and Defensive Spellcraft and Lore where entire sections of the class have been moved in to the Magical Species class. I suspect we will have to monitor this closely over the year, but it shouldn't cause too many issues."

"I have a handful of NEWT students who are interested in joining new classes, whilst continuing to complete their NEWT's." Filius interjects. "I suspect given the chance they will want to take the examination next year as well. Will this be permittable?"

"Of course," Albus nods agreeably. "From next year we will be far stricter I suspect, but for the current seventh years, allowances can be made. Providing they continue to attend those classes next year, even if they have officially graduated, I can't see any reason to hold them back."

"Talking of additional courses," I say, thinking suddenly of the impossible course load Percy Weasley is determined to take on for himself. "I have one of my brightest sixth years determined on biting off far more than he can chew, I fear."

"The eldest Weasley boy here?" Filius asks. "I was talking to him after the welcome feast. He's certainly determined."

"Tell me about it," I sigh. "He's currently got himself lined up for eleven IMP's and two TOAD's if I remember correctly. And he's already asked for permission to take the TOAD's to IMP level after seventh year. That boy should have been in Ravenclaw, Filius."

"He's not the only one, Minerva." Filius looks up at me with a glint in his dark eyes. "I swear on Merlin's beard that I should have got the Granger girl. At least with the Weasley's it's justifiable. After all, you've got the whole set."

"Either way. I wanted to check that it was permissible for IMP level students to take TOAD classes if they so wished to do so?" I turn back to the matter of hand. "Of course, they will have to accept that they will be classed with younger students…"

"If they are happy with that arrangement, again I can see no problems." Albus agrees. "In fact, it might be beneficial to the younger students to have older students working with them. If it all works out, I might consider allowing future IMP level students to expand their horizons by supplementing their learning in such a way. Of course, they will have to be able to prove they can handle the workload. Are you quite certain Mr Weasley is up to the task?"

"He seems quite adamant that he is," I answer. "I've put in a request to the Ministry for the use of a Time Turner as a special arrangement. After all, the boy is going to need every extra hour he can get. I'll keep a close eye on him, of course. But he'd read the opening chapters in all of his textbooks before term even started. I suspect he'll manage."

"A Time Turner?" Severus drawled. "Isn't that akin to giving the boy an unfair advantage?"

"It's hardly a competition, Severus." I snap sharply, glaring daggers at him coldly. "And there is precedent, after all."

"There certainly is," Filius interjects. "Only last year I put in a request for one of my sixth years. The Ministry is happy to oblige providing certain conditions are met and due diligence is taken. It's rare to have two students with Time Turners in the school at the same time mind you."

"I suspect it will be three next year if your student is staying on," I remark quietly. "I don't doubt Miss Granger will try to take every course the school can offer…"

So early in the school term, there isn't really much more to discuss and after meandering uselessly around various topics, everyone starts to disperse. I suppose one of the small benefits of the amount of additional work I have somehow signed up for this year is the excuse I have to stay well away from the planning of various festivities and celebrations. With Halloween not far off on the horizon, I'm glad I can wash my hands of it. It is a ridiculous celebration after all. Bats and pumpkins and sticky sweets. A muggle invention that somehow made it across the normally firm dividing line, so now even in magical circles it takes precedence over the solemn affair that Samhain should be. I know several colleagues think the same, including Severus, but it is never enough to swing the tide. Merlin would be spinning in his grave.

An owl greets me as I enter my office, perched tentatively on the window ledge and looking distinctly disgruntled. Can owls even look disgruntled? Well, this one manages it for certain. Taking the thick parchment from its left leg, it hoots imperiously at me before settling down with its head tucked beneath a wing. Clearly I am expected to respond. The seal is recognisable and as I break it open, I have to wonder what the Ministry wants of me now. With the curriculum finalised and in place, I had hoped for a break from the endless back and forth that has been the bane of my life these last few months.

 _Dear Minerva,_

 _You might recall a small rat problem that was encountered last year at Hogwarts. I am writing to inform you that despite significant pressure from the Minister, I have finally succeeded in procuring a re-trial, or a trial at all as the case may be, for the convicted murderer Sirius Black. The date has yet to be circulated._

 _The Ministry is keen for this to be a hushed affair, with as little public awareness as possible. There is little I can do in my current position, however it is of note that Mr Black still currently resides in Azkaban and is considered in a fit state to testify without further medical attention._

 _I am sure you are aware of the need to discretion in a case like this and I will leave any future action up to your own discretion._

 _May Merlin's Justice Be Served,_

 _Amelia Bones_

 _Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

My eyebrows retreat into my hairline as I read the careful lettering in front of me. Amelia's wording is no accident. She has been very careful indeed and that alone is concerning. Clearly the Ministry want to hide this miscarriage of justice under the carpet and Amelia is worried. I scratch out a brief response and let the bird fly before gathering a few items and making my way out. If anyone would know what to do about this, it would be Severus, but his ingrained bias will make him unreasonable. I turn towards the Defence rooms instead, and find Remus sat at his desk surrounded by paper.

"Having fun?" I quip as I walk in.

"Don't tempt me," he responds. "I can drop it on your desk if you would prefer?"

"No thanks," I reply with a smirk. "However, I have something that might interest you more than mediocre essays here."

I pass the parchment over to him with a hover charm and watch carefully as he reads. By the time he's reached the last few words his hand is shaking with what I suspect is barely suppressed rage.

"They can't do this!" He exclaims loudly, standing and starting to pace the floor of his office. "They can't do it! I could murder them!"

"Well, it looks like they are trying to," I keep my tone light deliberately. I am no less infuriated than Remus, but one of us has to keep a level head. "The question is, what are we going to do about it? And murder, whilst an attractive temptation, is probably not the optimum of solutions."

"What can we do?" He growls with an almost feral ferocity. "They have it all nicely sewn up, don't they? Keep the case out of the public eye, rubber stamp it and Sirius is once more a terrorist, only this time not necessarily a murderer. Even if they let him out, which is doubtful, he'll never be able to hold his head high again. He'll always be seen as a Death Eater!"

"We can't let that happen," I say quietly. "The Ministry must be held accountable for their actions."

"How are you so damn calm!?" The werewolf explodes, his magic pulsing to life in his aura. "They haven't even taken him to St. Mungo's! They haven't done anything!"

"Amelia has been very clever," I remark, ignoring the outbreak. "Whilst she almost certainly wasn't meant to notify us, there is nothing in that letter that could prove she is deliberately trying to stir a response. If it should get out to the right people… the worst that she could be accused of would be a minor indiscretion."

"What good would that do?" Remus snaps distractedly, running a hand through untidy hair. "It's not as though people's sympathies are going to be with the convicted Death Eater, particularly when there's no judgement there."

"Are you so sure about that?" My tone is just as calm, just as steady but the younger man looks up at me suddenly, his face difficult to read but his look intense. "After all, it's all in the interpretation. If the Ministry leaked it first, it would likely be played out as just caution. But if we spin it…"

"The Prophet…" Remus breathes breathlessly.

"The Prophet, The Wizarding World News, Wizard's Voice, The Whinging Times, The Quibbler…" I watch as Remus' face seems to light up from within. "You name it, we contact them. Even if the Prophet won't run it for fear of the Ministry to begin with, they'll have no choice once it gets out. They won't stand for other papers having an edge on them with such huge news. The Ministry won't stand a chance."

"What about Amelia?" he asks.

"What about her?" I remark with a shrug. "She wouldn't have let us know if she didn't expect us to do something with the information. So let's do something. Shout it to the rooftops. Scream it to the heavens. Make the Ministry rue the day they thought they could get one over on us. They deserve every ounce of pain we can inflict on them."

"Minerva… that… that might just work…"

"Oh, it'll work all right. We'll get their underwear so thoroughly in a twist that Fudge will be singing contralto. Believe you me."

And so it begins.


	5. The Dementor Effect

Told you the next chapter wouldn't be long in coming. I apparently needed to get unstuck on the limbo chapter in order to get my fingers working again. Anyway, here it is and I hope you like it. Yes, Halloween will be coming soon but there was some unresolved business that I needed to get out of the way first. And it's a full length chapter as well. Success!

And please - REVIEW! 920 of you have viewed the last chapterso far and I have a total of six reviews for it which is just sad and makes me sad. Particularly as one wasn't actually for that chapter. Pretty please. With sugar on top and stuff like that. I'll even try to keep writing at a decent pace...

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 **Chapter 5: The Dementor Effect**

 _Thirteen Years Behind Bars With No Justice?_

 _Azkaban Expose: When Innocence Is No Defence!_

 _Minister Refuses Comment on Dementor Fiasco_

 _Ministry of Magic Colludes With Dementors For Wizarding Souls!_

Remus and I share a distinctly evil conspiratorial grin over the staff room as we glance over the various newspapers scattered across the table. Sirius Black and the miscarriage of justice has been the front headline news for the better part of two weeks and the Ministry is going absolutely crazy. I particularly like the Quibbler headlines myself; so far the Ministry have been accused of everything from collusion with a Grade 5 Creature to having a decade long infestation of wrackspurts. One thing I can say for Xenophilius Lovegood is that he has a magnificent imagination.

I will admit, the news has caused a significant amount of disruption around the school these last few weeks. The papers have been rather intrusive; as friends or teachers of the unjustly imprisoned, many of us have been asked for statements and the story has spread and built up until there is absolutely no ignoring it. Various Ministry officials have contacted Hogwarts, pleading with us to stay silent on the issue, but the flood gates have opened and the truth has come out. It had to in the end… at least when somebody is determined to keep stirring the pot.

 _Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House at Hogwarts for over a decade is willing to go on the record with her thoughts about the matter. "There is simply no excuse for such unforgivable sly and untrustworthy behaviour on behalf of the Minister for Magic. The moment it was discovered that Peter Pettigrew had not in fact been murdered by Sirius Black but had instead spent the last ten years hiding in his illegal animagi form, Sirius' case should have been brought to the forefront of the Ministry's attention. It is inconceivable that a potentially innocent man should be left to linger at the mercy of the Dementors of Azkaban for even a minute more than necessary, for the poor man to be left for months defies belief and understanding. I hope the Wizarding community can be trusted to rally around and demand justice. If the Ministry cannot be trusted then who is to say who might be wrongly imprisoned next."_

And true to form, the wizarding community has indeed rallied. Even families like the Malfoy's have come out in utter condemnation of the Ministry's actions, although I have little doubt that they have their own ulterior motives for being so forthright about the issue. There were many true Death Eaters imprisoned without a fair trial on the basis of potentially shaky evidence and I imagine there will be more than one brought to a trial in the very near future. When it has been proven that even one person was imprisoned mistakenly, doubt and uncertainty will be cast on the convictions of many others. Mud will be slung and it would not surprise me if several actual Death Eaters are released come the next few months.

It's unfortunate but true. And if the Ministry had done their jobs properly it would be a moot issue, but the Ministry cut corners and a decade on, evidence is going to be difficult to find. Some of the true nut cases like the Lestrange woman will stay safely incarcerated, but I dread to think how many others will end up walking the streets due to a lack of diligence and foresight on the part of officials all those years ago. Such things are not in a school teacher's remit however. It is enough to know that by my actions and those of a few others who will not be named, we have brought about a complete reversal in the presumed fate of one Sirius Black. I think the Ministry had intended to try to ignore the outcry to begin with, presuming it would die down given time and lack of attention. More fool them.

Sirius has been moved to a secure ward at St. Mungo's pending his upcoming trial. Fudge, that deluded ape, had originally tried to rush it through with barely twenty four hours notice, but was shut down by Black's medical team. In a rare concession, St. Mungo's have even made a public statement which has now been printed in every paper in the country. It has even made it's way into a few of the international papers; there is little the foreign communities like more than being able to drag another Ministry through the mud after all.

 _Mr Black is in a stable but serious condition and is currently in no fit state to present evidence to his defence, leading to the decision by the medical community to refuse Ministry officials access to his care. No statements will be taken from Mr Black until he is deemed able to provide fair and clear testimony. Close family members and friends may be permitted to visit on a case by case basis._

Black's case is foremost on everybody's lips and the Ministry are going to rue the day they tried to bury this.

"A word, if you please, Minerva." Severus looms over me, his face set tight as he throws another bundle of papers down onto the wooden surface. "In private."

"Of course, Severus." I stand abruptly and follow him out the door. "My quarters are closer."

We walk in stiff silence down the corridors and it is only as I lean to open my door that I realise Remus has followed us out off the staff room. He completely ignores the glare Severus shoots his way. The door is barely closed before his whirls on me.

"I take it this is your doing?" He growls, tone low and dangerous but I refuse to flinch from his obvious displeasure. "That the mutt's face is all over the headline news and students are gossiping about it in the corridor?"

"As a matter of fact, it is." I reply evenly. "The Ministry looked to be trying to cover up the whole incident and something had to be done about it. It's been quite effective by my reckoning."

"You do realise that Lucius Malfoy is already petitioning to have Dolohov's case re-opened?" He looks furious. "And that's just the start of it. He has a dozen names just to begin with. He'd try to get Bellatrix released if she wasn't as crazy as a house elf on puffweed. Do you realise what you have set in motion? What you have done? Malfoy himself couldn't have hoped to strike a greater blow for the remnants of the faction if he had plotted it himself!"

"That is hardly my fault, Severus," I reply archly, trying to ignore my all too similar thoughts not long ago. "If anyone should take the blame, it's the Ministry. They are the ones who allowed this to happen. No trials, limited evidence and convicted on hearsay? It's no wonder it's coming crashing around their ears now."

"Yet you facilitated it!" his dark eyes face with rage, his perpetual sneer replaced by an expression more akin to a grimace. "If you had any sense whatsoever, Minerva, you'd have gone about this quietly! A word in the right ear not this circus of dancing flobberworms!"

"An innocent man is free though," I reply with more calm than I truly feel. Perhaps I should have approached Severus before setting this banshee and niffler show in motion. He certainly has a better handle on the darker factions of our political society than I do. "Long past due."

'One scraggly mutt sectioned in a padded cell of St. Mungo's is hardly worth a half dozen Death Eaters roaming free in Muggle London!" Severus spits venomously and I feel rather than hear Remus rise behind me. "Lucius is utterly beside himself!"

"Enough, Severus," my voice cracks like a whip in the enclosed space of the office and miraculously my younger colleague's jaw snaps shut, although the blazing fury in that dark gaze doesn't diminish. "You overstep yourself."

"In what?" He bites back. "The arrogant mongrel was hardly worth..."

Remus is between us before I can say another word, his wand held in a suspiciously loose grip by his side. Those amber eyes lock onto the sallow face with an intensity I have rarely seen in the mild mannered man and they flare with something primal as he takes a step closer. Severus is taller, but the way Remus holds himself makes him seem larger somehow.

"That 'arrogant mongrel' as you so charmingly put it," he snarls, muscles bunched in unmistakable threat, "has spent a decade rotting in a hellish prison, his mind torn apart by the ravages of some of the most hideous creatures that we have the misfortune to spare our country with, if not the entire world!"

Severus scoffed, rather unwisely I thought in light of the situation.

"It's a good job we did separate dangerous breeds from the Defence curriculum if you are that poorly travelled," he sneers dispassionately, not even bothering to look at Remus as he waves his wand with apparent disinterest, changing one of my hard backed chairs into a leather armchair and all but lounges in it, his wand arm relaxed and loose down one side.

I groan inwardly, rubbing my forehead tiredly. The last thing I need is a contest of who has got the largest… I stop my thoughts sharply. That is not a metaphor I have any intention of continuing.

"It's a wonder our students were ever taught anything. Examples? Perhaps the Brazilian kanaima which have a talent for possession and grievous harm almost unheard of elsewhere. Or perhaps the parasitic obscurus, often found in ill developed countries and continents, that always kills its host and leaves a trail of destruction in its wake. And of course, the skinwalkers of Navajo are all but indestructible. In comparison, the dementors of Azkaban can merely be defined as 'unpleasant'. They are, after all, eminently controllable."

He stops, but only for long enough to twitch his wand slightly causing a large smoking tankard of something that I sincerely hope is not alcoholic to materialise in front of him. Taking a sip, he continues in the same dry, pedagogical tone as if we were particularly dull students he was required to illuminate on the matter.

"That is the reason the dementors are the Ministry's choice for the frontline defence of Azkaban, after all. They are creatures of dubious intelligence, however they can be negotiated with, they can be controlled and they can be confined. A single relatively simple spell protects you completely. It should go without saying that there are countless creatures more dangerous than the dementor, providing you don't insist on a predominantly 'Western' viewpoint as I believe it is known as in academic circles. Others may define it as a white pureblood mentality."

He smiles slightly, but it is not a pleasant smile.

"Some of them could even give the Dark Arts in the hands of a master a run for its money and that is not something I say lightly. After all, a creature is as the creature does. The Dark Arts on the other hand are unfixed, constantly mutating and indisputably indestructible even if the caster himself is not."

"I didn't know you had an interest in such things, Severus…" I remark lightly, trying to reduce the tension in the room, if only by a fraction.

"I have been applying for the Defence position for years, Minerva," he snaps harshly. "As you well know. And I would have been significantly more suited for the role than any of the dunderheads our esteemed Headmaster has deemed to employ these past five years. However, the Headmaster is as the Headmaster does and we must all work around that…"

"None of that has any relevance!" Remus finally explodes, striding forward until he is almost looming over the lanky frame of our Potions Master, still lounging unconcernedly in the chair. The only indication that he has recognised a threat at all is the slight tightening of his shoulders and the changed grip on his wand. It occurs to me to wonder when I started to be able to recognise all these miniscule cues in my younger colleague's behaviour and body language. To an inexperienced eye, it would be easy to assume that he is utterly blasé about the enraged wizard standing over him, wand gripped tightly and legs set in a duelling position. Somewhere along the chaos of the last year I moved into a far more select circle it would seem. I am not sure how that makes me feel. "Spirit walkers are not, as far as I am aware, used to suck happiness and will, leaving prisoners helpless as they languish, forgotten for years!"

"You wouldn't want to try…" That dry, academic tone again. Severus hasn't even bothered to look up at Remus, and when he does glance up from the contents of that tankard, whatever they are, it is to meet my gaze. His shadowed gaze glints with something… is that amusement I see lurking in the darkness. My exasperation rises. Boys or men, they are as bad as each other. "The skinwalker, not spirit walkers I might add – they are an entirely different breed of species as you should be aware, would tear any Ministry official fool enough to try before the buffoon could even open his mouth and then be minded to target anybody standing close enough to be interesting…"

"Can we stay on point please, _boys?"_ I say pointedly, cutting across the rising tension before Remus decides to put his Knuts where his wand is. "This is not the time for a history of magical species, regardless of how fascinating it is. If you feel such a need to lecture, Severus, then maybe you should be approaching Professor Kettleburn or Madam Quinou for a spot in their curriculum. Until that time however, we were talking about Sirius. Please Remus, do continue. Without interruption if possible."

I fix a glare on Severus, who merely smirks at me. Irritating man. Remus takes a deep breath and, thankfully, steps back from his nemesis of old.

"What about the state that Sirius is in now?" Remus asks, visibly controlling his anger as he speaks. "It is hardly surprising after ten years in that place I suppose, but…" His voice cracks for a moment and he closes his eyes briefly. "He isn't the same. It's like the essence of all he was is gone somewhere… somewhere else."

"You've been to visit him?" I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I have been ringing St. Mungo's for updates on his condition and been given vague answers and a promise that they will let me know when his condition improves. When I asked about visitation they informed me there wasn't a great deal of point at the moment, but they anticipated he would be in a better state in a couple of weeks. Of course, these things are never set in stone. Weeks could easily turn into months depending on well... on Sirius himself mainly. "You didn't mention it?"

"There really wasn't much to mention," Remus says darkly, sparing another glare in Severus' general direction which is completely ignored. "He's conscious and everything but it's like a huge part of his personality has been stripped away, leaving just an empty shell behind most of the time. You remember him from our early twenties, Minerva. Boundless enthusiasm and exuberance…"

"Get a puppy." Severus mutters as an aside, not quite under his breath, and this time I turn to glare at him. "You've got a chance of house training them…"

"Severus!"

"… a never ending stream of ideas and inventions for various pranks…" Remus continues, gamely trying to ignore the other man's interruptions, "…not to mention the inability to stay still for more than a second or two before declaring himself bored as an excuse to run off somewhere."

"Maybe some Cornish pixies…" Another aside murmur as Severus aimlessly stirs his concoction, clearly looking anywhere but in my general direction. "Just as much chaos, far less noise…"

"Now though?" The strain in Remus' tone is obvious, although I can't quite tell if it is pained or irritated… or most likely a mixture of the two. "I almost didn't recognise him, Minerva, and I don't just mean physically. It's like his personality has been drained from him. He recognised me well enough, but it was like all the stories and reminisces I tried to ply him with were things that had happened to a different person. Someone he just didn't care about. It was only when I mentioned Harry that he really engaged with me and that was…"

He halts, stutters and looks away, his eyes suddenly finding great interest in my carpet. His discomfort is clear for all to see as he shuffles slightly before shaking his head dumbly.

"That was what, Remus?" I prod, unsure as to why he has suddenly clammed up or why he looks so uncertain. "What did Sirius do? What's wrong?"

"It was…" Again he hesitates. "I don't know how to explain it…"

There is something in his manner that is beginning to make me uneasy and even Severus has given up making snide remarks and is listening closely. Not that Remus would be able to tell of course; it still looks as though he is contemplating the contents of his mug with all the gravity that you might treat the meaning of the universe. There's something in his posture though. The way his head has twisted just slightly to the side, the stillness of his fingers on the metal, the set of his mouth…

"It was… disturbing if I am honest. It was like a switch had been flipped but instead of getting the old Sirius back it was as though he were manic. He was moving the whole time, talking so quickly I couldn't make out individual words and punctuating well, sentences, I suppose, with a strange high pitched laugher. In fact, even when I could make out phrases they seemed jammed together incoherently. They made no sense. And he'd suddenly turn and start talking to Harry or even to James as if they were actually there. He'd reach out to touch them even. He'd stop talking and just stare at this completely empty spot in the room as if listening to an answer and then he'd be off again…"

Remus' brow furrowed. His obvious concern warring with his loyalty to one of his closest friends. A friend that he already felt he had betrayed once.

"But that wasn't it. Or at least not all of it. He'd… well, he'd morph half way through a sentence, change into his animagus form and run around the room barking at the walls or scrabbling at my feet, then revert back and go on as though he'd never been interrupted. He didn't seem to realise he was doing it. It was as if he'd lost control of some portion of his mind or his magic or his core or whatever you want to call it. It was all… very strange. I've never seen anything like it."

"Long term exposure to dementors is not something the wizarding community has invested a great deal of resources into," Severus muses, more to himself than to Remus. "This could be a fascinating opportunity actua…"

"Sirius is not one of your thrice damned experiments!" Remus all but bellows, the sound unnaturally loud in the enclosed space. "He is not a thing! He is a living, breathing person! He is a damn good wizard!"

Finally Severus actually looks up at him, his expression in something akin to surprise, as though he hadn't anticipated such a violent reaction. Then again, perhaps it honestly hadn't occurred to him. Severus has very few close friends and many of those are perhaps more for political expedience than true friendship, at least I presume from reading between the lines. To him, this is a question of academic interest. To Remus, it is immensely personal. To me, it is personal. Perhaps Severus doesn't see that… or perhaps he just doesn't care. It's difficult to tell with Severus sometimes.

"My point is," Severus remarks remarkably calmly, considering he has over six foot of muscle pointing a wand at him, "that regardless of how much more unstable than usual your mutt is, you can interest a wide variety of benefactors to work to find the most fitting treatment. Probably free of charge. This is virtually a once in a lifetime opportunity. People sent to Azkaban for ten years don't tend to come out. They rot in there until they die. There have been a few cases of people having shorter stints, but nothing of the degree in which you are talking about. There will be people willing to pay to have a shot at examining him…"

Severus doesn't get a chance to finish as Remus has stormed out of my office, slamming the door with such force that the paintings reverberate against the walls.

"Do you have to wind him up so, Severus?" I ask tiredly.

I'm too busy trying to process what Remus has told me to manage to interject any real anger into my tone. We all knew that Sirius would be in a bad way; after all, ten minutes in the presence of a dementor without a Patronus charm as a shield is more than enough for most people. A lot depends on how large your magical core is, I suppose. One theory at least is that the evil creatures are attracted to those with larger cores as they provide a larger source of energy. It's apparently one of the reasons they are attracted to crowds; so many cores are almost irresistible to them. Azkaban is a source of constant fodder. It's impossible to know the truth of course. The Ministry may have negotiated with them, but they are hardly conversation friendly.

"Not my problem that he's too sensitive for his own good," Severus grunts, waving a hand listlessly with no apparent concern. "The insolent brats will eat him for breakfast if he takes that attitude into the classroom. Not my problem though. Now hush, I'm thinking."

If anybody else had taken that tone with me, I'd likely have planting a well-aimed stinging hex as a reminder of good manners, but there's something about the way he's sitting that stops me. I wander across to my desk and collate the few papers that are scattered there. Just as I'm about to interrupt whatever the exasperating man is 'thinking' about, and follow it up with something more practical if necessary, he looks up.

"I would strongly advise not taking Mister Potter to St. Mungo's until there is a thorough assessment of the mutt's physical and, more importantly, mental state," he says abruptly. He stands and paces a few seconds before continuing. "It would be worth checking with St. Mungo's as to whether what Remus described is 'standard' behaviour as such, I suppose, but from the symptoms described the muggles would likely diagnose some form of psychotic episodes… it's certainly not neurotypical behaviour… but all the more complex because of the interactions with the magical core…"

"Psychotic?" I question slowly. I'm not sure I understood half of what he just spouted but my mind has stopped on one completely unfamiliar word.

"Psychosis," he responds shortly, his mind clearly somewhere else even as he answers the question. His tone is sharp and precise, his words clipped. He could be standing at the front of a classroom. "Relatively common in muggles. Probably just as common in wizards but we're so used to eccentric and inane behaviour that we likely don't even notice half the time. A debilitating psychiatric condition defined largely by an impairment of reality functioning which can be seen in either hallucinations or delusions, but whilst classic, psychosis cannot be constrained to those symptoms alone."

"I understand the concept of being deluded," I say, trying to keep up. "Hallucinations?"

"We'd likely call them apparitions in the most case," Severus replies thoughtfully, "based on the fact that we are aware that not all things can be seen with the naked eye. And of course that some hexes and curses can cause such impairments in sight, sound and touch alone. In this case however, I am referring to the description of the man having conversations with people either long dead or ensconced safely somewhere in this castle. We know that James Potter did not remain on the physical sphere as a ghost; he would have made his presence known by now, of that I am absolutely certain. The git would have revelled in it. We know Potter hasn't left Hogwarts. With those two facts in point, it is a reasonable deduction to assume that the mutt is seeing things that aren't there. Or hallucinations in the muggle medical parlance."

"And… this means what…?" My tone is distinctly doubtful.

"Well, when combined with the disordered thinking, chaotic speech patterns and erratic behaviour…" Severus continues, fingers tapping restlessly against the tankard which must, I would judge be virtually empty by now. "…it would all seem to point towards a neurological cause…" He catches my blank look and sighs. "An issue with the brain to be blunt. And the problem therein lies that we don't know what exactly caused it or what Black might do." He glances down at his goblet again before muttering. "After all, he was never the most stable individual to begin with…"

"Enough, Severus," I retort sharply. "I know you have had your differences but…"

"The man tried to kill me," he states blackly, boldly. There's no obvious rancour in his gaze now. "At sixteen years old and with a full awareness of the dangers of his actions, the high probability of either injury or death – with the latter being the preferred option, I might point out – he put not only me at risk but his supposed best friend. You can't be unaware that the Ministry would have had Lupin culled if that particular escapade had wound its way to the conclusion Black apparently wanted? You cannot tell me that was the act of a reasonable, rational young man?"

He stares at me, his expression giving little away but clearly expecting something of me. I sigh once more.

"No, but he was…"

"He was a stupid, irresponsible teenager who either lacked the ability to understand the consequences of his actions or had no capacity for empathy." Severus interrupts flatly. His hooded gaze almost dares me to disagree. I wish I could but… If Albus had told me at the time, I would have been hard pressed not to suspend the boy, if not push for outright expulsion despite his name and the prestige of his House. But Albus kept his secrets close even then. And for once, the individuals involved kept their mouths shut as well. "Yes, he was a minor according to Wizarding law, but he knew damn well what he was doing and there is no denying it. That wasn't some prank gone wrong, it was an outright attempt on my life. He should have been expelled."

"It was a long time ago, Severus," I start hesitantly, but again my younger colleague speaks over whatever else I might have said.

"Yes, it was a long time ago. It was before the death of his closest friend, before any suspicion of a member of the group being a spy for the Dark Lord, before his abandonment by the last remaining _Maurader_." The last word is said as a sneer, the loathing that is never far from the surface rising once more. "It was before he spent over ten years in direct proximity to the dementors. Not one dementor. Not even a handful. An entire prisons worth, constantly patrolling the hallways of that dark place. Ten years with no contact with the outside world, limited stimuli, mediocre sustenance."

He looks at me once more for a long, long moment. The silence grows but somehow I know there is more to be said.

"I would not wish that on my worst enemy. I would not wish that on James Potter. Oh, I might have once," he reacts to my raised eyebrows with a smirk. "Not now. That is the kind of experience that would send the sanest example of a wizard fleeing to the recesses of his own mind. And I think I have demonstrated that Sirius could never have been considered for that particular honour. He was childish, thoughtless and cruel without any thought to consequences or repercussions."

"People change…" I say weakly. "It's been ten years…"

"Ten years of that," Snape retorts, his voice rising slightly, "is ten years of hell. One does not walk away from that a better person. You cannot learn from your mistakes or have a chance to rectify them. You cannot grow up. You can only regress."

His gaze is almost compassionate, but he speaks with a frightening finality.

"You cannot expose the Potter boy to him. Not now. Not until we know. You cannot know what he will do."

"But Remus was clear that he loves the boy still…" Even I can recognise the plaintive note to my tone.

"And what happens if he thinks Potter is an imposter? That his hallucination is real?" Severus says it so calmly, but my heart turns to ice in my chest. "What if he suddenly blames the boy who lived for surviving when his parents died." He stops my response with an upturned hand. "I know. It isn't logical. The boy wasn't even two years old. But remember, I was willing to blame him for the sins of his father when he walked through the doors last year. We aren't always sensible. And Sirius is all the more dangerous for his potential unpredictability."

"So what do we do?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, the action seeming to roll all the responsibility off his shoulders and I fight back the flare of my temper. "I won't go anywhere near him, in any case. The werewolf wouldn't let me even if I wanted to. Which I don't."

He stands suddenly and heads towards the door at a more sober pace than Remus managed.

"Don't mistake me. I'll read the literature with great interest."

He smirks and I fight the temptation to hurl something at him.

"I'm sure Lucius will as well."


	6. The Chamber Is Opened

Thank you for responding so well to my plea for reviews on the last chapter. This made me a very happy bunny indeed. I am doing my best to get this written at a half decent rate and hopefully you enjoy the fruits of my labours. Halloween is finally upon us. Would you believe it, but the events of Halloween are a whopping 40% through Chamber of Secrets, which makes me feel less guilty about my 20,000 words to get here! Anyway, read, enjoy and please, please, please, review.

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 **Chapter 6: The Chamber Is Opened**

"Attention!" I call as I walk into my class. The second year group are all hyperactive and unmanageable with their anticipation of the Halloween festivities. "Anybody who is not sat down and quiet in the next ten seconds will be facing detention with Mr Filch."

Groans meet my announcement, but bottoms hit seats regardless and the classroom settles down into relative quiet. Under normal circumstances, this would still be too loud but I have a surprise up my sleeve today. After all, getting them to concentrate on Transfiguration when they are quite so excitable is far more trouble than it is worth.

"Right, many of you will have seen this sheet of parchment before," I state quietly but firmly, allowing the class to quiet further in order to hear my voice. Waving my wand lazily, I levitate the papers around the room effortlessly, dropping them onto desks as they go. "Those of you with older siblings in particular, or indeed with parents who have taken an interest in the new teaching methods and curriculum this year. Those of you without that advantage, particularly the muggleborn amongst you, may have only seen the lower year's changes that we have implemented, so this will be new to you."

It is, after all, rather difficult to involve muggle parents in the decisions of Hogwarts. It's an entirely different world to the one they are familiar with and descriptions of the more basic classes alone is beyond most of their ability to comprehend. Some things are easier than others; Herbology and Potions for example. But it would be impossible to explain the complexity of Transfiguration or the utter absurdity of some of the magical species, let alone their languages and politics.

"As I suspect you will all have guessed, today's lesson will not be focussed on Transfiguration," I continue, glancing across the room to check that I have the class's full attention. "Instead, we are going to look at the new curriculum and discuss how you might like to move forward with it as you enter your third year at Hogwarts."

"But that's ages away yet, Professor," a familiar voice from the back groans, as it's owner looks at the list in some dismay. "We've barely even started this year yet!"

"If you would prefer it, Mister Finnigan, you can complete an hour long test to demonstrate just how much you remember from last year?" The next groan is even louder than the first. "No. Well. Let us get on then. Why do you think it might be important to look at your options now?" I wait a beat. "Anyone?"

Typically, the Granger girl's hand is the first to rise.

"This curriculum looks far more complex than the Ministry approved OWLs and NEWTs," she says slowly, scanning a finger down the list as she speaks. "And there's a far greater inter-dependency with various courses. So whilst previously we were getting a standard generalised education, the changes allow us to specialise much earlier."

"Exactly, Miss Granger. Five house points to Gryffindor." I smile at the look of pride on her face. "Another five if you can tell me why it is therefore important for you to understand what is on offer now, rather than panicking later."

"Well, it's going to need a lot more thought and concentration," the girl answers, still looking at the list. "Not to mention research and a huge amount of organisation. I mean you'd have to balance your TOAD classes carefully in order to allow you to specialise in whatever subjects you might be interested in for IMP. Otherwise you will end up in a complete mess, Professor."

"Excellently analysed. Five more points to Gryffindor as promised." I look around the rest of the classroom. "Now, of course we are all here to help you and I am sure any of the staff would be glad to talk you through their classes in brief if you approached them. Alternatively, you can always approach myself or any other of the Heads of Houses for advice or support. But as an example… Mister Boot, what are your main interests?"

"Potions, Professor McGonagall," the quiet younger says immediately, without any hesitation whatsoever. "I enjoy Defence classes as well, but Potions is my best subject. Even before Professor Reynolds took over."

"Right," I decide to ignore his latter comment. It wasn't exactly insulting towards Severus and Merlin knows, my younger colleague more than deserves his reputation amongst the students anyway. "As you can see, there are three IMP level classes based solely around Potions; you have the option to study restorative potions, alteration potions and a special course focussed entirely on the more dangerous potions including toxins, poisons and battle potions. You have actually picked one of the simpler pathways to take, if that is the route you choose to go down. Any ideas, Mister Boot?"

"I'd just need the basic Potions class to take Alteration Potions and then Healing in order to take Restorative Potions, Professor. For Battle Potions I'd need to take Restorative Potions anyway as well as Healing. So that's only the three."

"Don't forget that the Healing Class requires you to continue with Herbology and Charms," I interject. "This is why it is so important to start thinking about this now. That would leave you with five classes, but both of the above may prove useful for Potions in terms of understanding your ingredients and being able to master the necessary charms for warming, stirring and such like. We are anticipating that the majority of students will take around nine courses at the IMP level. So where else might you focus your attention?"

"If you were interested in Healing as a main focus then Mind Healing would be a good option as you'd already have Potions, Charms and Healing, so you'd then only need to add in new Defence class, but that still only makes seven…"

"And are you specifically interested in healing?"

"Not really beyond the basics, Professor." The youngster admits thoughtfully, his quill scratching at the paper aimlessly. "I'd like to be able to make myself useful in an emergency, but it's not a career path I'd be really interested in taking…"

"So mind healing probably isn't for you…" I remark with a smile, impressed despite myself at his attitude. It isn't every second year with that kind of common sense approach to their future. "It is after all one of the most technically challenging, demanding and high risk specialities and requires utter dedication."

"Other than that Professor, I guess I'd mainly be interested in the new Defence classes, Magical Theory and maybe Alchemy. They don't link together so well, but…"

"Don't sell your choices short, Mister Boot," I cut across him. "I have certainly heard Alchemy described as a form of Transfiguration by way of Arithmancy, which is one of the reasons you would have to take both those classes as a precursor to even beginning to begin to dabble in the art. Additionally, it does have distinct similarities to Potions at the Masters level and certainly, Golpalott's Third Law takes its roots in both Potions and Alchemy. It would therefore certainly serve you well when it comes to how many possible routes you may have to whatever objective you choose. Defence and Protective Spellcraft is useful across the board, hence why it is taught as a mandatory subject right off the bat, however does it not occur to you to consider why Professor Snape has such an impressive array of spells at his disposal?"

"Yeah, 'cause he's about as dark as they come and everyone knows it…"

I don't need to look up to recognise the voice.

"That's enough, Mister Finnigan. You will treat all members of staff with respect regardless of your personal feelings," I snap, meeting his gaze with a look that could freeze fire. "Ten points from Gryffindor and I expect you to apologise to Miss Granger for undoing all of her hard work this class. Another comment like that and you will be joining Filch for an after class detention, missing all the Halloween festivities in the process, do I make myself understood?"

"Yes, Professor," the boy mumbles down to his desk. "Sorry, Professor."

"So, any thoughts? Mister Corner perhaps?"

"Well, I guess some potions can be really quite volatile and if something goes wrong they might explode or even worse, turn toxic." He looks up at me and I nod encouragingly. "So much like Charms can help you to prepare ingredients or heat and cool cauldrons, if you're working with highly unstable ingredients or substances, you'd want to be able to throw up a variety of shields in case something didn't work."

"Excellent, five points to Ravenclaw. There are a variety of spells that can be used to simplify or advance the art of potion making." I look back at Terry Boot before continuing. "And finally, Magical Theory is at the very heart of everything we do and can be linked to every subject and specialism. You will find it far easier to understand why certain things work or how different fields of magic interlink if you have a thorough grounding in this topic. So that leaves you with…?"

"Ten, Professor," the youngster replies with a frown. "Is that allowed? You said that most students will take nine?"

"It is all going to come down to capability and how much your Professors believe you will be able to handle. Some of you will do less than nine, some of you will do more. This may have nothing to do with aptitude in some cases though; there are certain combinations which will be far more difficult and indeed in some cases more dangerous. In those cases we may recommend that individuals drop other unrelated courses in order to maximise their learning where it is most important."

"What courses do you mean, Professor?" The Granger girl speaks almost before her hand is raised.

"A good example would be Warding and Curse Breaking," I watch as her quill scribbles hurriedly across the curriculum page. "Both require the same four courses; Arithmancy, Runes; Ancient to Modern, Protective and Defensive Spellcraft and Lore and of course Charms in order to take them at the IMP level. After all, both warding and curse breaking are strenuous, dangerous and exceptionally challenging specialisms to work in. Whilst it may be helpful to have a TOAD in Healing, we would likely suggest that most students drop it at the higher level in order to stick with the six courses or be very careful about what else they decide to take. Where a career in Gringotts is the aim, the courses in Magical Species Languages and Inter-species Relations may be of interest, but this would be managed on a case by case basis."

"Bill manages all right and he never had any lessons here about it!" the youngest Weasley interrupts somewhat scathingly, but I don't miss the clear pride in his tone. "Can't be that difficult then, Professor!"

"You may not realise this Mister Weasley, but your older brothers have been exemplary students all around," he scoffs and I know he's thinking of the twins. However, whatever else you can say about those two red-headed demons, they are more than above average in magical proficiency. Their concentration is the usual factor at fault for their low grades. "But even with that proviso, your brother would have had to undergo a gruelling series of training under the goblins and they do not take fools lightly. I can say with certainty that our new courses will reduce if not entirely cut the need for this further specialist training after graduation, particularly as Professor Weasley is running the courses under the direct guidance of Gringotts itself."

"I thought that the goblins hated witches and wizards, Professor?" A small voice from the very back of the room piped up. "What's changed?"

"Relationships certainly have always been strained between the goblin and human races of magical beings," I say, glancing once more around the room for my next victim. "Mister Longbottom, can you tell us why and what you think might be the reason behind the sudden change of heart?"

"Relations between the two races have been fraught for centuries," he answers surprisingly calmly and with an underlying confidence in his words. "If you talk to some pureblood factions of the wizarding population, they will lay the blame for this squarely on the shoulders of the goblins; that has certainly been the education systems mind-set when planning the curriculum, as all of us are more than aware of. It is important to realise however that just as much blood has been spilt on the goblin side of the wards and rebellions that we hear so much about. Much of their resentment comes from the abiding sense of most witches and wizards that the goblins are somehow subservient to us…"

"Aren't they?" Lavender Brown cuts in curtly, offense clear in her tone. I hold my breath, waiting to see if I need to jump in. "After all, they are…"

"They are hugely intelligent, as much or perhaps more so than the average wizard," the boy raises his voice slightly, in order to resume what he was saying, but otherwise doesn't seem to react to Brown's interruption. "They have a complex language that barely anyone outside of their own race bothers to learn, they have numerous skills and powerful magic that could easily overpower all but the strongest of wizards if they do chose to. Despite having this huge source of magical energy and power, they are refused the use of a wand due to inane legal bylaws and political power play. Despite this, they all but control the wizarding economy, could crash it with very little effort and you still call them inferior?"

"So why might they have changed their minds?" I ask, with some genuine interest. I hadn't expected a shrewd analysis of inter-species relations when I asked the question.

"I don't think anything has," Longbottom surprises me again with his blunt response. "Goblins still actively mistrust or even hate wizards. They still resent the fact that we will not permit them the use of a wand. The more extremist members would likely like to see us all murdered in our sleep, much as the most conservative and blinkered thinking purebloods see no role for muggleborns in wizarding society, despite the vast majority of Hogwarts students now being muggleborn or half-bloods. The prejudice is too ingrained to be easily removed now."

Interesting. I knew the boy was far more liberal in his thinking than many of the long-standing pureblood houses, but I hadn't realised just how liberal his earlier education must have been. The stance on blood purity was hardly radical, but the rights of magical creatures, even ones with a basically humanoid appearance like goblins, were a far more heated issue. I suppose we should be glad that in Britain the creatures we come across are generally relatively harmless and many have no interest in becoming part of the wizarding society. Replace our centaurs with the Asian aqrabuamelu however, and we'd be playing on a whole different board. I suppose we should be grateful that Hagrid never got his hands on a young one to introduce to the forest… the centaurs are more than prickly enough and at least they only have four legs and can't sting you to death.

"I think Gringotts has simply seen an opportunity to recoup some of their losses over the years," the Longbottom boy continues, cutting through my thoughts.

"How so?" I comment lightly.

"Since they are not permitted wands, there are several roles within Gringotts which have to be filled by a witch or wizard. Currently, as you yourself pointed out earlier, they have to expend a great deal of effort and financial resources to bring any hireling up to their exacting standards. If Hogwarts is able to take the brunt of this, the goblins get to redirect their efforts and embarrass the Ministry by funding wizarding education so openly. It's a win win situation for them really."

"Well analysed, Mister Longbottom. Another five points to Gryffindor." I glance around the class. "Now, if all of you want to start looking at the sheets in front of you and considering your future options here at Hogwarts." A wave of my wand brings a series of books crashing down on the back table, along with neatly organised piles of paper. "Behind you there are the basic syllabus lists for all of the courses and some introductory texts on many of the subjects. Feel free to peruse any of the resources and if there is something in particular you are looking for, I will be happy to locate it for you."

The rest of the class went relatively quietly and I am pleased to see that most of the students seem to be taking this seriously. There will always be a few exceptions, but that is neither here nor there.

"That will be enough," I bring the lesson to a close with a smile. "I hope you all have something to chew on for a while. I am sure you are all looking forward to the feast this afternoon, but you still have one more lesson to go."

There's the expected excited chatter as they all troop out of the door. I catch the words Deathday Party from somewhere, but don't pay it much heed. After all, I muse as I wait for the next class to arrive, when given the choice between a feast for kings and hanging around with ghosts, I know which most students would choose. It isn't until I sit at my place at the head table, surrounded by bats swooping down from the ceiling, fluttering streamers swimming lazily through the air and unbelievably large pumpkins that I realise that four of my charges are missing from the Great Hall.

"Have you seen Potter, Longbottom, Granger or Weasley anywhere?" I ask Filius, who is seated beside me. "I'd have thought the young Weasley boy in particular would have been keen to attend the feast."

"Strangely enough, I actually do think I have a good idea where they have disappeared off to," Filius replies with a glint in his eye. "Somehow or another it would appear that they got suckered into attending Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party for one reason or another. Mister Weasley sounded most aggrieved about it as a matter of fact. He was far less keen than Miss Granger on the educational opportunities and rather more concerned with his stomach."

"Do they serve food at a Deathday Party?" I ask, somewhat fascinated despite myself.

"You know what Minerva, I really haven't got the foggiest. I have never been invited to attend one personally, for which I will consider myself rather grateful if I must say so."

"I suppose I ought to go and rescue them," I stand up slowly, glancing longingly down at my full and as yet untouched plate. "Bathilda will have my guts for garters if she finds out I've been allowing the boy to skip meals. Any idea where it's being held?"

"Dungeons, I believe," Filius remarks through a mouthful of chicken. "Seems the most likely place, anyway."

Just what I need, I think glumly. Leaving the warmth and atmosphere of the Great Hall to go traipsing through cold, dank tunnels to find a party of ghosts and four wayward and likely very hungry teenagers. My thoughts drift back to the matter of Sirius Black as I walk, as they so often do recently. I attempted to visit him at St Mungo's shortly after my conversation with Remus, but the healer in charge was clear that he was having a particularly bad day and that further stress would simply cause to upset the man unduly. This does not fill me with great confidence.

Severus was right, mind you. Black must have a team of some of the most renowned healers of our time. The opportunity to study the effects of prolonged exposure to the dementors has caused huge interest in the medical communities, not just in the UK but internationally as well. I've been collecting various cuttings from newspapers and journals without knowing quite why I started. I pull the latest cutting from _Magical Maladies_ my inner pocket and glance through it once more.

 _The health and magical implications of prolonged exposure to the magical creature known as the dementor are far from fully understood for a wide variety of reasons. Dementor attacks in the community are exceptionally rare in modern wizarding Britain, and the only known population of the creature serves the prison of Azkaban. One must be aware that differentiating the effects of the dementor from the natural psychosis and mania of the average inhabitant of Azkaban is no small task. It is however reasonable to assume that, given the control these creatures impose on the once magically powerful witches and wizards incarcerated there, that any dementor exposure will have a significant detrimental impact on health and magic alike._

And on it goes in much the same vein. Effectively, all they are saying – and using a whole lot of words to do so – is that they really don't know what the effects are. Black is therefore almost a medical celebrity. I pocket the item as I get closer to the dungeons and hear the sounds of what must be a hundred thousand fingernails on a blackboard of doom. I've been hesitant with how much information I have shared with the Potter boy regarding his godfather, keeping it as vague as possible. It is possible that Black will never regain his full faculties and I don't want to set the boy up for a disappointment. Even if the man does recover, nobody knows how long it will take or how the experience will impact on his personality.

"Ah, Professor," I am greeted at the door by Nearly Headless Nick himself, surrounded by black velvet drapes, his voice raised above the sound of musical saws. Behind him is the surreal sight of hundreds of translucent white forms floating around a dance floor or crowded around a table of what smells to be repulsively spoiled meat and fish. My nose baulks at it even from a distance. "Welcome, welcome… I wasn't expecting…"

"I've come to locate a quartet of my students, I'm afraid Nick," I say brusquely, trying very hard not to breathe too deeply. "They are missing the festivities and their meal. I don't think they can eat anything on that table, I'm sure you'd agree."

"Oh, but we've only just got started. I haven't even given my speech yet…"

"I'm sure it will be well received," I say without thinking, already scanning the room to find my missing students. I spot them in a corner of the room, looking as out of place in this ghostly crowd as I feel. "There they are!"

I'm halfway across the room, followed by a plaintive sounding Nick, when a dozen ghost horses and a dozen ghost men come bursting through the wall and gallop into the middle of the dance floor. I take advantage of my ghostly companion's distraction to scoot over to the small group who look torn between relief and horror to see me.

"If you would like to follow me, I have made your excuses for this evening," I announce as I swoop down on them, smiling at the sigh of relief the Weasley boy gives, even as he ignores the glare his bushy haired friend shoots him. "You must be starving. If we hurry, you'll make it back to the feast in plenty of time."

"Thanks, Professor," the red haired boy says with a cheeky grin. "You're a lifesaver, you do know that?"

"I've been called many things over the years, Mister Weasley, but that may well be a first." I reply, a small smile curving my lips. "Come on then. I haven't got all day. Try not to walk through anybody if you can."

We're about halfway back to the Great Hall when the Potter boy suddenly stumbles to a half, stopping short in the middle of the hallway, as all colour leaves his still angular face. Fear fills those bright green eyes as he glances frantically around him, looking for something only he can see.

"Mister Potter?" I inquire carefully, stepping closer to the boy. "Are you quite all –"

"Hush!" His tone is short, sharp and strangely urgent. I'd normally rebuke a student for being so disrespectful, but something in his expression stops me short. "Listen! You must be able to hear it!"

"Hear what, Mister Potter?" I reply, with growing concern over the child's health and wellbeing. Hearing voices is serious. I start to usher gently him towards the doorway, in the direction of the Hospital Wing, just in case but he refuses to move, standing as though frozen, now looking up towards the ceiling.

"It's moving. It's getting further away…" He looks up and suddenly bolts towards the stairs, towards the Entrance Hall. I meet Miss Granger's gaze but she seems just as perplexed and concerned as I do. The boys are no more help, with Longbottom shrugging before starting to follow his fast disappearing friend. "This way!"

I stumble into a run, following in the tracks of the boy as he sprints up the marble staircase, heading up towards the first floor of the castle.

"Harry, what is –" Miss Granger's voice cuts across the quiet of the hall.

"Be quiet!" The boy snaps, not even looking at his friend, instead staring searchingly around the area. Without any warning his voice rises into a panicked shout. "It's going to kill someone!"

With that cry, he's off again, this time hurtling up the next set of stairs, taking three steps at a time. Gaining the top of the stairs, he breaks into a sprint and I struggle to keep up as we charge around the entirety of the second floor. My knees are not made for this kind of exercise.

"Harry, what the hell is going on!?" Rom snaps, wiping sweat off his face and looking just as dishevelled as I feel having taken such an impromptu race around the castle. I know that I need to get the Potter boy to Poppy urgently. Whatever he's hearing, the voices must be coming from his own head and they are clearly both violent and upsetting. This is way beyond my abilities. "There's nothing –"

Then there's a gasp beside me and I turn to see Miss Granger pointing down the final, deserted corridor.

" _Look!_ " Her voice rises into a fearful squeak on the single syllable.

We all turn towards the corridor uncertainly. Moving closer I can see that there is something shining on the wall ahead of us and after only a few more steps into the darkness, I can make out what it is. Huge letters have been daubed on the wall in blood like paint, spreading across the space of feet, making out words that make my heart stutter in my chest.

 _THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED._

 _ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE._

Taking another step forward gingerly, I spot what looks to be a bundle of fur hanging from the wall, held up by some spell or rope, it's difficult to tell from a distance. The children realise what it is before I do and the jump backwards, the Weasley boy stumbling over his feet in the process.

"It's only bloody Mrs Norris!" the red head hisses in horror.

I step forward into the gloom, reaching out a hand to untie the poor creature or release it from whatever enchantment is holding it. I expect to be clawed for my trouble, but the creature doesn't stir, instead hanging limply from what I now realise is a torch bracket. The light skitters unevenly across the wooden boards of the floor and I realise with a start of horror that Filch's cat isn't going to be moving again. It's eyes stare blankly down and as my hand finally makes contact with the thing, I shudder at the realisation that it's still warm. We must have missed whatever killed it by a hair's breadth. Whatever attacked it hasn't left a hair out of place, it could look as though it's merely sleeping if you didn't know better. But there is no life left in it.

For a long moment, I just stand there, looking dumbly at the creature. It takes effort to make my arm move and to mutter the incantation that will slowly ease the poor creature down to the ground. With a second wave of my wand I send my Patronus flying towards the Great Hall. Towards Severus. Towards Albus. All thoughts of food are forgotten as Miss Granger kneels beside the small, pitiful body of the creature, reaching out a hand to pet it awkwardly. Even the boys look unnerved. None of them have any particularly fond feelings towards Filch's pet, but none of them would have wished it dead.

Nobody would. Would they?


	7. Mysteries Upon Mysteries

And so another chapter arrives. As per usual, please do review; they make my week and give me the impetus to keep writing so if you like it and you want more, reviewing is a way to prod me into moving quicker!

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Mysteries Upon Mysteries**

If someone had suggested at the start of the day that I would spend the evening of Halloween closely holding a dead feline in front of me, I would have laughed them off. There's no laughing now though. All of us in the room are silent, except of course for the dry, racking sobs coming from Filch in the corner of the room. It was an odd enough procession to my office, four stunned and shell-shocked teenagers, a distraughtly furious caretaker flinging accusations around at the traumatised youngsters, Severus and Albus leading the way and me left holding the dead cat. Why am I the one left with the dead cat for Merlin's sake?

Chairs hastily transfigured out of anything that looked remotely usable, I rather unceremoniously dumped the limp creature onto my desk with a rather brutal reminder to myself to vigorously Scourgify the surface when all of this was over and done with. As it is, I may be robbing the house elves of some of their more potent sterilising agents. The four children stand awkwardly at the corner of the room, pale and tense as they huddle together before eventually sitting in the chairs furthest away from any of us adults. I can't really blame them. Severus has been glowering at anyone and anything foolish enough to catch his eye and even docked one of his young snakes five points on the way up. Argus is alternating between sobbing and screaming harsh allegations and I dread to think what my face looks like.

First things first however, and I am crouched so closely over the dead creature that my nose is almost touching the fur whilst Albus gently prods and pokes at it with his long fingers. It's strange. The creature is clearly dead, but as I thought up in the corridor, it looks as though it could easily be sleeping. There's no sign of trauma and Argus has tearfully informed us that Mrs Norris was in robust health this morning, before pointing the finger back at my young charges. But if she wasn't ill and there is no obvious cause of death, what killed her? It's as clean a death as you might get from the Killing Curse, but nobody in the castle is going to be casting that… in fact, there is likely only one, maybe two individuals who could cast it. I can't imagine them wasting the effort on a cat.

My probing spells are finding no other likely conclusion however. Other than the fact that the cat is most definitely, unmistakably deceased, I can find no reason to believe there's anything wrong with it. Magical trauma isn't my speciality I will admit, but I know enough to check for the obvious. But there's nothing. Barely a hair out of place. A closer examination by someone trained might be able to pick something out I have missed, but judging from Albus' expression, he isn't having any luck either. I check for magical residue but even that comes up blank. Any dark magic would surely leave some trace of its passage, and if it was magic that killed her then it must have been very dark indeed.

"Well? What killed it?" Severus finally bites out, clearly grown weary of the seemingly endless murmurs and gentle prods being directed at the cat.

"They did!" Argus screeches suddenly, red, puffy eyes glaring manically around the room before landing on the four shaken teenagers. "They did! They murdered my cat! They killed her! I'll kill -|"

"That is quite enough, Argus," Severus snaps forcefully, fixing the distraught man with such an icy glare that he shrinks back into himself. His tone loses some of its edge but stays curt, cutting. "You are distraught. That is no excuse to be damn stupid. How old do you think these students are?"

Argus slumps back into the chair, glancing away from the youngsters and mumbling something unintelligibly into his clenched hands. I don't catch it, but by the way the sallow faced man's eyes narrow menacingly, Severus has better hearing than me.

"Because by my reckoning," Severus continues mercilessly, stalking across the room towards the suddenly frail looking Squib, "they are second years with no proficiency in offensive magic and varying degrees of limited aptitude in basic charms and wandwork. The girl might have managed to Scourgify the wretched cat on a good day, but to kill? They haven't even learned the disarming charm yet, you fool. Get your head out of your rear end and start thinking, instead of throwing mindless accusations around."

It is impossible to miss the looks of astonishment on the three boy's faces at the sight of their feared Potions Master defending them of all people; Mister Longbottom looks likely to faint and I feel glad he's stayed in the chair. Nor indeed do I miss the look of consternation upon Miss Granger's face. You'd think she'd almost prefer to be accused of killing the creature, rather than this casual assumption of incapability. She does sometimes remind me of a younger version of myself.

"Tact aside, Severus speaks sense, Argus," I remark, rather more gently than my younger colleague, trying to calm the poor man down. Distraught or not however, his behaviour simply isn't fair on my students and it needs to stop. "The day a second year could manage that kind of magic is the day Merlin strolls into Hogwarts demanding his tenure!"

"But – but – but…" Filch's face is almost a caricature of anger and grief. I don't know what he'll do without that cat. Mrs Norris and I didn't always see eye to eye on some fundamental issues, but she didn't deserve this. "If they didn't – who did!?"

His last words are a strange hybrid combination of a screech and a bellow that is most unpleasant to the ears and I have to fight the urge to cover mine. Instead, I walk over and place an awkward hand on the man's thin, shaking shoulder.

"What about the writing, Professor?" The Longbottom boy interjects for the first time since young Harry ran off like that. "The Chamber of Secrets? Enemies of the Heir?"

"Well a ruddy cat can hardly be an enemy," Weasley scoffs. "Unless it's to troublemakers and mischief managers… but even Fred and George wouldn't go this far!"

"But what is the Chamber of Secrets?" Longbottom asks again, ignoring his friend's interjection, his round face concerned. "Who is this Heir that it mentioned."

"A nonsense tale, nothing more," I answer firmly. "A Chamber built deep into the bowels of the castle thousands of years ago by none less than Salazar himself. A tale told to frighten sensitive first-years, that's all. Numerous people have searched Hogwarts from top to bottom and there has been no sign of any chamber whatsoever. It's an old myth and one long discounted."

"But Professor, it has to be important," he persists with unusual doggedness. "It looked like it was written in well… blood or something. That's more than serious!"

"That's enough," I say gently. "Whoever wrote those words clearly wanted to make a statement, and they have certainly done so. However, we need to concentrate and we can hardly do that with so many questions. We can sort this out, don't you worry." I smile at the frightened youngsters in what I hope is a reassuring manner. It wouldn't be much good if it just looks like a grimace, after all. "Off to your dormitories with you. It would be best if you only spoke about this between yourselves for the time being." I will speak with you all tomorrow after breakfast.

The four troop out of the room with a few disgruntled mumbles and I return my attention towards the dead cat draped across my desk. I'll likely have to speak to more than just those four come morning; this will be all over the castle in an hour.

"Could it be a case of mistaken identity?" Severus asks quietly, making me jump as I hadn't realised he was directly behind me.

"I wouldn't think so, Severus," Albus clearly has the same enhanced hearing as my younger colleague. He doesn't look up as he speaks, his wand now waving across the cat in complex patterns. "Nobody even remotely familiar with the castle would mistake Mrs Norris for Professor McGonagall. Their markings are completely different, there's a significant difference in size and out of the two and anyone looking for the Professor wouldn't bother waiting for her feline form."

"And what reason would anyone have to want me dead?" I ask blankly. "Although, I suppose that begs the question…"

"Why Mrs Norris!?" Argus wails. "My cat has been killed! I want to see someone punished!"

"Perhaps a student joke gone wrong?" Severus asks, his face blank but his mind clearly whirring busily away in the background.

"Unlikely," Albus says firmly. "Someone clearly left Mrs Norris there to be found. That is beyond doubt. A stunning spell would have done the trick if all they wanted to do was make a statement. But stunning spells don't kill."

"They could do," I say uneasily. "Mrs Norris is after all a small creature and she isn't young by feline standards; an overly powered stunning spell could put undue pressure on her heart, perhaps? Or maybe more than one person aiming a stunner at the same time? Not considering the combined effect of multiple spells?"

"So they didn't even mean to kill her?" Argus' voice is strained, and I begin to wonder about the state of his heart. "And they still tied her up like that and left…"

His voice disappears in a fresh round of sobbing.

"It's possible…" Albus muses, looking down at the small, pitiful body on my table. "Unfortunately, it's difficult to be certain. I can confirm that there is no trace of dark magic lingering on her body. Something like a stunner likely wouldn't leave that kind of residue, unless it was cast with intent… and as I think has been suggested, there are better spells than a stunner to cause harm." He scratches his nose thoughtfully. "But someone wrote that message on the wall, then left the body where it was certain to be discovered at the end of the Halloween festivities. I would hazard a guess that it was meant to be seen by as many of the students as possible. It was mere luck that you were leading Mister Potter and his friends back to the…"

"Yes!" Argus spits out, glaring about the room but looking, I notice, anywhere but at his dead companion of so many years. "And isn't that a coincidence! He saw my letter! He knows I'm a Squib! That they would be the ones to…"

"Enough, Argus," Albus says quietly but firmly and his tone is enough that our caretaker's jaw snaps shut. "This has already been discussed and I will hear no further mention of it, either here or anywhere else in this castle. Regardless of what was seen or unseen, there is no way any one of those four could have perpetrated this act. They do not have the knowledge or the magical proficiency."

"We are looking for someone who is aware of the legend of the Chamber of Secrets," Severus interjects mildly, his hooded gaze intent. "That rules out the vast majority of students and a large proportion of the faculty."

"So it was one of yours?" Argus hisses furiously, only to flinch back from the dark flash in my younger colleague's eyes.

"I did not say that," Severus' tone is silken and soft, but there is danger lurking not far beneath the surface of his words. "You would be wise to refrain from placing words into my mouth, particularly words that contain slanderous allegations about those in my care."

"Argus, you are upset and not thinking clearly," Albus remarks kindly with a kind, concerned look on his face. "It is to be expected. How about you go and find that bottle of firewhiskey I know you have hidden in your desk drawer and two glasses. I will be down to speak with you shortly. We will need to arrange some form of funeral for Mrs Norris here and a place for her to be buried."

With that, he gently steers Argus out of his office and turns back to face myself and Severus.

"Speak freely, Severus."

"The Chamber of Secrets is a poor secret amongst the Slytherins, with many rumours abounding over the years as to who the heir might be," Severus says slowly, clearly thinking carefully as he speaks. "There are a few with grandparents who attended Hogwarts when last the Chamber was reputed to be opened, but none I could see doing this. I am still doubtful as to whether such a place even exists at Hogwarts. From the tales of Salazar, I would not put it past him, but to have remained unfound and undisturbed for thousands of years? It seems more unlikely than otherwise."

"But why leave that message now?" I ask. Never mind Argus finding something strong to drink this evening, I wouldn't say no to a glass or maybe three.

"Now that is another question I cannot answer, Minerva," Albus' voice is light, but the frown lines around his eyes reflect his anxiety. "For the moment we shall have to hope that it is a cruel and distasteful prank of some kind. To believe otherwise…"

"What, Albus?" I interject after the silence has been left a little too long.

"I was teaching the last time the Chamber was supposedly opened," he finally continues flatly. "It was a dark time for Hogwarts. A dark time indeed."

"A girl died, didn't she?" Severus asks sharply.

"Yes. Myrtle Elizabeth Warren. Ravenclaw. I believe she would have been about fourteen at the time," Albus sighs heavily, conjuring some heavy dark fabric and wrapping it around Mrs Norris with a few neat twists. "Hagrid was blamed for it in the end. Apparently he had some kind of monster hidden in his cupboard. Or so Tom Riddle would have had us believe."

"Tom Riddle?" My voice comes out as a squeak, cutting off whatever Severus was about to say. I remember my colleagues rant in Albus' office, not far off a year ago. The children that Hogwarts had failed. "You don't mean…"

"Yes, Minerva. Tom Marvolo Riddle. None other than Lord Voldemort himself." He shakes his head sorrowfully. "I always thought something was odd about that time. Something never sat right with me. But nothing I said had any effect. Hagrid was presumed guilty, even after no beast was found in his keeping. His wand snapped, disgraced and expelled. It was all I could to persuade Headmaster Dippet to keep the poor man on as Gamekeeper. There was little else I could do."

"You mean to tell me that we have a convicted felon working at the school?" Severus snarls, his eyes blazing furiously. "One that we know has a fondness for creatures with venom, horns, spikes or best off all, all three in one package? It's no wonder Dippet expelled him. The man surely had form even then!"

"There is a convicted Death Eater on the staff, Severus," Albus replies icily, shocking even Severus into silence. "Do not presume to lecture **_me_** on second chances, my boy."

The silence stretches uncomfortably, neither man willing to step aside.

"How would Hagrid have even found the Chamber, if it exists at all?" I finally ask, just to break the building tension.

"He couldn't have," Albus' voice is blunt and final. "There was never any question of that. It was sheer stupidity to think he might have been able to. Regardless of what was or wasn't hidden in his closet, it was nothing to do with the Chamber."

"But Albus," I ask, honestly flummoxed. "What do we do?"

"What can we do but hope, Minerva?" He smiles, but it's not a smile that reaches his eyes. "I have searched high and low for this Chamber, Dippet searched before me and Merlin knows how many incumbents of this position have in the past. I will of course speak to the portraits, but I can't imagine they will have anything new to add."

"And if the Chamber is open?" Severus' voice is quiet, his face grave. "What then?"

"Then it is going to be a dark, dark year for Hogwarts," Albus replies, equally quietly.

"That's it?"

"We will have to take all precautions of course…"

"What precautions can you take against something when you don't even know if it exists!?" I bite out angrily.

"Do you have any better suggestions, Minerva?" Albus asks gently, waiting a long moment before shaking his head. "I thought not. We will have to wait and hope. That is all we can do for now. Now, please excuse me. I should go and see to Argus. He really shouldn't be alone."

The black bundle of cloth raises once more at his brief command and he leaves my office, mercifully taking the dead animal with him. I wonder what he will do with it. I suspect Hagrid will find himself dealing with the hole digging side of things.

"There must be something else we can do?" I exclaim to Severus.

"I'll ask around my House. Carefully. See what I can come up with." He mutters, pacing around the room before looking up at me. "It's been all but forgotten for years though, and _Hogwarts: A History_ only gives a potted account…" His gaze sharpens. "You were there when they found the damn cat. Was there anything else that seemed odd? Anything at all."

"You mean other than a dead cat and words written across the wall telling us that a mythical Chamber is open and we are all doomed?" I ask archly.

"Not all doomed," Severus responds with a wry one-sided smirk. "Only enemies of the Heir, by the looks of it. You'll be fine. If it's Slytherin's heir then it's only the muggle born that need to worry. Maybe the half-bloods."

"Oh don't," I snap sharply. I know he's only trying to help, but it isn't a laughing matter. "But… actually…" I tail off, thinking of the one thing I'd forgotten in all this chaos. One really important thing. So important that I can't believe I didn't mention it immediately. "Yes. There was. Potter was acting extremely strangely. He was talking about hearing a voice or something like that. Except there was nothing there. None of us could hear anything; Mister Longbottom, Weasley and Miss Granger were just as taken aback as I was. It was quite frightening actually." 

"Voices?" Severus' tone has sharpened noticeably. "What were they saying?"

"I don't really know," I reply, thinking hard. "He mentioned something about how they were getting away and going to kill someone and then hared off round a bend and we were all too busy trying to keep up to hear anything else in honesty. Why does it mean something to you? I was thinking more of getting him to Madam Pomfrey, until we came across Mrs Norris of course and everything slipped away from me."

"It would be worth having Madam Pomfrey check the boy out, I admit," Severus muses thoughtfully. "Rule out any kind of psychotic episode. But it seems more than passing odd that it would occur so soon before finding the cat. The body was still warm and limp. Rigor mortis hadn't set in yet. It had only just been killed and moments before Potter hears a voice saying it's going to kill someone. Did he say where it was coming from?"

"He didn't. But he was in quite some distress and looking all around him. Then he said something like, 'It's moving. It's further away,' and bolted." I think harder but can't come up with any further details. It all happened so fast. One moment I was shepherding them towards food they could actually eat, rather than smell from a mile off, and the next… "It was really unnerving, Severus, I don't mind saying."

"I would imagine," he remarks dryly. "This bears thinking upon. You are certain that you didn't hear anything? That your Gryffindors didn't?"

"I think I might have noticed a voice coming from the walls announcing its intention to murder someone in the castle, Severus." My words are sharper than my tone. "No, I am absolutely certain. None of us heard as much as a whisper."

"Hmm…" He stands and walks to the door as he speaks. "Get the boy looked over by Poppy. It isn't all that unusual for psychosis to manifest as apparent external voices or even smells and images. I suspect that he heard something though. The question is what?"

"And where!" I shake my head. "As I said there was nothing there."

"There are ways to remain invisible to the eye. Many creatures use it as a defence mechanism and it is not unheard of for the more powerful witch or wizard." He turns and looks at me. "The simplest mechanism would be the Disillusionment Charm, but there are other more complex and far more effective means, providing you have the time, the inclination and the strength of course. Or the money. And there is a lot of money floating around in some of the older houses, as well you know."

As the door closes, a thought strikes me. There's a lot of money, power and magical power in more places than just the old houses. There's an awful lot around the Ministry as well. Perhaps it is time to check on how Amelia and her team are getting on with Quirrell and the dangerous shade of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named he had stuck to the back of his head last time I saw him.

It is the work of the moment to send Pantherus winging off towards the Ministry. Something tells me that I would be wise to cover all the possible bases.

After all, we know exactly where to find an incarnation of Tom Riddle, of sorts at least.

I would prefer to avoid any more unpleasant surprises.


End file.
